Fascination with death evident in childhood,
you killed & preserved Fluffy & Muffin,
neighbors unaware of your pastime.
Did any of them ever look in your eyes -
cannibal eyes in a boy's face?
Surely they would have known your secret
but no-one wanted to look that deep;
beguiled by surface calm & diffident smile.
Living death a legacy,
child father to man you became
you made skeletons into
images of worship.
Did lovers hear dusty graves in your whispers?
Feel clammy clay in your caress?
How bitter your kisses as their lives ebbed away.
They never heard the hum of the Cuisinart
processing them into next week's meals,
never saw sightless heads in your fridge
awaiting more company...
Mr. Bones, were you always a mad scientist
cum Third Reich fugitive,
selecting victims with Aryan contempt,
suspecting they wouldn't be missed
& no one would look if their skins were dark,
families spoke with strange accents,
or sexuality wasn't officially approved?
As you chose victims with a predator's cunning,
you select your entree with precision:
remove a kidney from the fridge,
place it in a pan with onions & a touch of cream
& delicately, precisely, turn up the gas.
(Copyright Hugh Cobb revised 01/04/2005)
Hugh Cobb
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jeff-dahmer-his-danse-macabre/
