Police bang on the door. . .
There's a body on the floor,
With bullet wounds in its head.
(Ten to one he's dead.)
They knock down the door,
Impatient.
They murmur to one another,
'Drugs'
And then rope off the area,
Call in the forensic science team.
Their job is done for now.

Hours earlier,
A man sat in his easy chair,
Watching TV.
A woman busts in the door,
And begins to scream.
He sighs and endures,
Then after she's gone to bed,
He pulls out a gun,
And. . .

Well, it wasn't drugs.