Xmas IS coming So Case Files are Fat

on this sleet slick morning I try to remain upright walking when I face a group of teenagers duking school -boys who've been more than once around the block they sneer through puffs of smoke as I try to avert my hat for protection the fog revealing a light mustard sun desperate to persuade us toward optimism cars and buses skid past splashing my dress -casual jeans    damp slakes through  denim into my arthritic knees like ice cubes  in a glass of single malt

when I cross the curb I suddenly become a clumsy acrobat when a cyclist almost collides but stops   dismounts and lifts almost caresses me   peers into my eyes and silently points me to the next  corner wishing me well

I feel every inch of every joint crunch as I near my desk a half-metre high stack of cold cases awaits there is  no team work now unions are no longer onside  for retired volunteers

this upscale cold city  too big for its  britches would rather conceal us  we're not diplomatic we wear our true identity on our sleeves we have no politesse both nights and days are rough lonely crowded wilderness landscapes where street lamps shine around themselves like models which mirror senators more often than not

new e-mails must wait while I try to analyze news of breaking cases attempt to find similarities knowing perps are often poisoned apples from diseased family trees

twilight comes early now but rest is always much later after trails of minute scrimps of clues  ironies in their own right covering decades of neglect

for others coming after me  after I am fodder for new gardens they'll need instructions  as to how to  open  these cases and break the long silence in each of them it is not only cases which have been stitched but not closed molluscs must also be pried gently