Detectives on the Job Poem

Everyone had to marry their jr. high dance date.
Everyone had to learn interesting tidbits years later.
Why did you run away to the Caribbean?
Your feet ran down the interstate
like you were trying to demonstrate
a point about global warming, flooding the Caribbean.

My face will be down in the mud,
resting bitch face invisible
from behind like most detectives on the job.

You were talking to the park ranger’s pickup
like it could have legal standing in her absence,
having government plates and a special ID number.
Mumbling alone is a sign of deliberate thinking
disguised as losing the thread,
at least according to Oxygen magazine,
featuring Dr. Oz’s take on webcams and cheating.