The man who knew too much

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The Man Who Knew Too Much,
starring in A Family Romance

The man who knew too much
had no qualities,
no dirty laundry, no new lush policies
to plant like new year’s resolutions
in eroded soil.

Even to grow flush at a function
was too much, his speech
ragged and frag-mushed into gruelling
sounds that leeched the boisterous
of their fun-blood.

The man who knew too much
stayed cool, even under gunfire,
but one well-placed, orchestrated
scream undid everything he knew,
mesmer music strode not on
rails, but in bubbles,
full sinuses popping with blood.

The man who knew too much
kept messages hidden in the pill
bottle, the medicine cabinet, a little
toiletries bag you take on long trips,
when you are driven along by horse-drawn carriages,
the ghost of Franz Ferdinand, and
jolly everymen drawn into rings
of political intrigue.

Like smoke rings out of Teddy Roosevelt’s
head at Mt. Rushmore, we
take care it never happens to us.

Revenge is a dish best served cold,
but what do we do in this steambath
called the family romance?