The inky fingered clerk

His dumb ill-fitted glasses
Slide down his narrow nose
Quickly catching her profile
Bent in still repose
But as she turns toward the window
He sees her tiny smirk
And the way that she looks down on
The inky fingered clerk
The inky fingered clerk

He follows her as the sun sets
As the day turns into night
He counts all of her footsteps
Getting every detail right
As he creeps upon the ledge
And to his deadly work
He knows no one would suspect
The inky fingered clerk
The inky fingered clerk




As the blood drains from her face
And her skin turns into chalk
She hears one last stroke
Of her mother’s carriage clock
Then finally she is still
After one last feeble jerk
Cradled in the arms
Of the inky fingered clerk
The inky fingered clerk

The cops had only her body
Her hands and feet unbound
Not one single clue
Or evidence was found
No trail of blood leading
To where inky fingers lurk
Only treachery and cunning
And the inky fingered clerk
The inky fingered clerk