Detective Shows

Let’s sink together baby, feet up

on the poof, corner shop merlot and

murder in an area of outstanding

natural beauty. Are you still watching?

Damn straight we are, this ends

tonight. Here comes the haunted

cop. He clutches his coffee like

a crucifix. He eyeballs

the Clyde Estuary. However bad our days

have been, that DI has got it worse,

half his scenes in misty flashbacks.

His ex won’t let him see

the kids. The Super breathing down

his neck. Your out of line, you’re off

the case. And we’ve known his like

for a thousand years. The ballads

told of desperate girls with babies

in their bellies slaughtered by their

whiskey-rattled lovers. In peaty drinking

dens the endless unchanged people sat

and listened, conjured up their own

stunning cinematography in which beauty

was destroyed and innocence slaughtered

then listened on to get their slice of justice.

Like us tonight, seeking a reprieve from

the horror of the headlines. When I’m feeling

powerless there’s no better place to be, my hand

in yours, as something gets resolved at last.