She hung the clothes up on the line,
Drove us kids to school at nine,
Walked the dog, fed the cat,
Ran some errands, bought a hat,
Cooked some lunch for herself,
Dusted books upon the shelf.
But when we returned
home we found
Her corpse crumpled on the ground.
Pills or gun, it doesn’t matter,
Our suburban ideal had shattered.
happy,” neighbors said,
(this was after she was dead).
I hear her voice sometimes at night,
I see her ghost, pale and white,
Please think of her and shed a tear,
No one saw a crack in the veneer.
FICTION! for trifecta, the word is "crack"