Smelling Copper

The body sprawled on the tile
His neck sliced by the blade
Like a great, grinning second mouth.

Blood splattered the walls.
In his death dance
The slick, thick syrup
Smeared everywhere his hands groped
For safety
Security
Something to lie to him
To tell him he would live and not die.

But die he did, and grandly.
We squatted on the frontier of the gore
Reconstructing the scene.

The coppery stink of blood was in the air
Sliding down the back of our throats
Mixing our stomach acids
Into homicide chowder.

We all knew the brew.

Investigate.
Wait for the Medical Examiner
To render his opinion.
Go home to wash the copper down
With bottles of beer.

But that body will never move again.

Cops come and go
And no matter how much you drink
You go to bed for fifty years still smelling copper.