JUST ONE MORE QUESTION
If you, in my town, murder do,
Be assured, I’m on to you.
I’ll park my carcass at your door,
Making queries by the score.
Every time you turn your head,
And think you’re free, I’m there instead.
I gather up the evidence,
At the scene or residence.
I’ll dig and scratch for every clue,
And drive you nuts before I’m through.
Though my appearance seems disheveled,
To your freedom, sights are leveled.
Rumpled raincoat, unlit cigar,
Tousled hair, crummy car.
Compared to you, I don’t impress,
But I have come to make arrests.
I solve each case that I’m assigned,
A record that can blow your mind.
There’s just one thing I’ve sadly noted.
I never seem to get promoted.
Signed, Lt. Columbo
Anne L. Fulton