Atop the spinet she left the score,
one word underlined in red,
for the cops:
glissando, too pretty a sound
for the deep fall, unhesitating.
from the ledge. That mark
she left, emphatic, echoed its coda.
Dog-ears drew back, children stammered
as they passed. It was an ugly effort,
inferior to her schoolgirl debut.
That crank from the Times,
shameless: She just went downhill.
That break, midface,
a death by misadventure
he called a smile.