Whodunnit

At the scene, the private eye discerns

a skeletal everything

vandalized, vessel with portals swung open.

Note: the encryption key, jimmied from inside.

We’ve been rowing in circles for hours

it seems. An oar floating just beyond reach.

For the record: one oarlock undone, four screws

loose, a loudmouthed outline signifying on the dock.

There is no I in team, the un-sub crows, off key

in rat-a-tat facsimile. We are out of our depths.

Mixed messages stream in from ports

as distant as Peoria. Someplace called Sulfur-dale. 

As evidence goes, the paw prints are gone-ers.

On the beach head, a scatter of herring

ribs dripped red and pointed

in opposing directions. The side swipe

as yet unaccounted for.