By John H. Trestrail III, RPh,FAACT, DABAT
The Borgias, DeMedicis and all those past—
You may have thought you had seen the last.
But we posioners are still around today,
And if you miss my crime, I’ll get away.
The body lies there neat and clean,
as the cause of death is seldom seen.
And the coroner may take time to pause—
is the death due to a natural cause?
An autopsy or tox screen may reveal death’s why,
but I hope the case will just slip by.
My crime is quiet and well thought through.
For you’re used to violence–Can I fool you?
The event’s rarity is on my side,
For I count on you burying my homicide.
And though I roam free ’round the nation,
I live in fear of an exhumation.
The clues I leave may be hard to find,
you see, to me, I have a superior mind.
My weapons are there before your eyes,
But they are so very small- of molecular size.
I don’t think you’ll have a notion,
for mine is murder in slow motion.
It gives me time to just slip by,
and create my perfect alibi.
Where to look for me isn’t clear.
I may be far, or I may be near.
I could be a stranger, though it is quite rare,
for I’m probably related to the victim there.
I chose the place, the means and time,
for poisoning is usually a household crime.
The knowledge gained by my living close,
made it so very easy to deliver the dose.
Seeing it as poisoning would be profound,
but I think you’ll miss it as you look around.
I’m a different kind of killer as you can see.
I am a POISONER—can you catch me?
Punzi-- Semper Fidelis 