St Mary Mead now has its village WhatsApp –
so useful in these Covid 19 days –
(I do not talk to people as I used to:
my daily walks are planned on quiet ways.)
There’s been another murder in the village,
and while the new Inspector is all smiles,
he is not giving credence to my theories.
But luckily I have hacked into the files.
The nice young man who does my shopping taught me,
and recently it’s helped to fill my time,
and to fulfil my moral obligation,
to help right wrongs, however strange the crime.
I think they should re-interview the husband –
the files confirm he has been known to roam.
I think he killed his wife, when, during lockdown,
he was confined with her inside their home.
These town police don’t understand the pressure
that living in a rural village brings,
where people are concerned with reputation:
how others will react to trivial things.
How shall I make the point about my notion,
and bring to pass a satisfactory end?
My voice will be ignored . . . But they’ll take notice
of Monsieur Poirot, my new Facebook friend!