Son dressed as dead mother in cash fraud
METRO, 23 May 2012
While the landlady rises early, breaks
her fast, her son sleeps in
on Sundays. A widower, she says,
dotes on the boy, and he on her,
says she sees her husband alive
in him, though I can't imagine where
he'd fit another likeness in.
Mistaking the one for the other,
the son for his mother from a distance,
I've caught her creeping from the bathroom
flagged in his flannel robe, a lather seeping
from a razor discarded on the basin.
As well as all the usual references,
they've asked for my collar and shoe sizes.
(c) 2012 Slush Poet
I think I feel like a very stupid detective reading this. I will puzzle all night.
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