The Poetry Corner

Confession

By Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

A sleuth like Pinkerton or Burns Is told that there has been a crime. He runs down clues and leads, and learns Who did the deed, in course of time. It's just the other way with me: The first thing I am sure of is The criminal's identity, And then I learn what crime was his. When Son comes up with hanging head And smiles a certain kind of smile, When he's affectionate instead Of playful; when he stalls awhile And starts to speak and stops again, Or, squirming like a mouse that's caught, Asserts, "I am a GOOD boy," then I look to see what harm's been wrought.