They’ve killed the female lead, again,
on the latest police procedural. Her blonde

hair fans out in a bloodied halo
against the red cobblestone and a fine rain

glosses her skin. They’ve arranged her limbs
in pinwheel fashion and tilted back

her sculpted chin to give the camera
access to a lithe, vulnerable neck, the wound

kept out of sight, alluded to as a strike
to the back of her head. Enough to end

her life but never a disfiguring blow—
her character nothing but a pawn

to up the ante of tragedies suffered
by the older, white male detective.

They are linked, of course, romantically,
and if she’d only listened, followed orders

without question, understood his deeper,
unstated plan, he’d have saved her.

Instead, he rises from his crouch
of grief, tears held back, and vengeance

ennobles his quest for the archvillain.
The showrunners know viewers tune in

in higher numbers when the damsel,
no longer in distress, is dead.