Rabbit ear antenna,
Four channels,
One being fifty-two,
Where I first saw you.  

Rerun. Christmas, 2010.
LAPD stood around,
Your stiffened body,
Deducing your demise.  

Torso, lean and tanned,
Hair blonde and tousled,
Perhaps a sleeping surfer,
Except for the blood.  

Detectives follow the trail,
Of hemoglobin breadcrumbs,
From your gaping wrists,
Up the Hollywood hill.  

Looking for clues and clarification,
How did you live?
How did you die?
And, why?  

A broken beer bottle,
A yellow Polo,  size large,
And patch of manicured grass,
All three caked in blood.  

An excited rookie,
“He must have cut himself,
Then tried to stop,
The bleeding with his shirt.”  

A veteran cop,
“Then he staggered,
Down to the house,
Probably to get help.”  

The seasoned coroner,
“Minimal pooling here,
On the doorstep,
Heart had already stopped.”  

They continue to process,
The scene,
As I attempt to process,
The implications.  

The coroner confirms,
“He changed his mind,  
But, it was too late.
Obviously, hit an artery.”  

Cause of death:
Successful suicide.
Such a fucking oxymoron.