Her Inglorious Death

It’s salacious and delicious
The kind of story that could make a script
A bombshell, a pinup
And her mysterious death.
My editor wants 130 words
And I better write the good stuff
Like the dumpster she was in
When they found her dead
And suddenly it hits
As I describe her body folded in a suitcase
That she’s somebody’s baby
And when her daddy reads the paper tomorrow
My words will stab him like a knife
But the papers will run it
The anchors will fake a frown
As they read it aloud.
Inglorious death, oh
You are the glory
Of this soulless
Thing I do --
The news.