Untitled

The Shooting On Main Street
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This is the story, of a trusty old friend,

Who continued his duties, while facing the end.

He sat in his corner, facing northwest,

Keeping things cool, and food at its best.
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When along came a person, so brazenly bold,

And looked at our friend, and his contents so cold.

No one will know, what ran through his brain,

As he pulled out his gun, and calmly took aim.
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He squeezed on the trigger, with a firm deadly grip,

And at the last fatal second, his aim took a slip.

The muzzle exploded, in billowing smoke,

While the gunman looked pleased, with his practical joke.
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He holstered his gun, and sneaked down the hall,

Then peeked round the corner, staying close to the wall.

Meanwhile in the lounge, with a hole in its door,

Stood our trusty old fridge, now a star of folklore.
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Who was that masked man, was the rallying cry,

Who shot our poor fridge, and then left it to die?

These are the questions, posed by Inspector Ken Hale,

While the boys from Internal, are hot on the trail.
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They test fired guns, of all the patrolmen,

Detectives, and traffic, and even their own men.

They narrowed their suspects, and searched for the gun,

But, still are not able, to find the right one.
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They could shorten the list, if they look at the hole,

Since catching the culprit, is their ultimate goal.

It was hit in the "shoulder", a bulls eye it's not,

Whoever it was, is just not a great shot.
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From ten feet away, against a target that size,

It should be one in the "X" ring, and the fridge's demise.

But, then again, maybe, he planned it that way,

To throw off the track, what else can I say?
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Or maybe he used, some other cop's gun,

Then he could sit back, and observe all the fun.

It could be a case, that will go down in history,

Without a solution, and forever a mystery.
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PC 664 T.J. Gowdyk 86-05-14 (26)