Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 128, No. 6. Whole No. 784, December 2006

We’re soul mates, dear, aren’t we? I know you so well.

I’m sure I know just how you felt as you fell.

You thought as you finished your last somersault

That none of it could have been seen as your fault.

That handsome young doctor — he sure wasn’t planned!

You just couldn’t help it. I quite understand.

The man from the carnival — What was his name?

In any case, I know the beer was to blame.

This Grand Canyon trip’s unrelated, I know,

To that vendor you met at the Phoenix trade show.

The baker, the cop... Did one make candlesticks?

All you lacked was an Indian chief in the mix.

But one day I came to my senses, you see.

I took your M.O. and applied it to me.

I learned from you, dear, and the oats you had sown

How to get out and have me some fun of my own.

It occurred to me, too, just today on the plane,

You might like to be rid of the old ball and chain.

If you had any sense, and I know that you did,

You must have been wishing me dead, God forbid!

So I’m sure you know just how I felt on that ledge—

Why I kept a safe distance away from the edge

As you leaned out so far to admire the view.

If the tables were turned, dear — now what would you do?