A Detective In the House
The clues are there.
The notes.
The writing.
The phone numbers.
The calendar.
Especially the calendar
holding all the secrets
of what was done and will be done.
He is bent over the cubby-holed desk,
slippers, flannel bathrobe,
searching through the familiar
and seeing only the hidden,
the missing,
the opaque.
The crime?
Something stolen, precious
and worse,
it is just out of sight,
next to the words,
the notes, the writing,
the calendar.
Especially the calendar.
So obvious the number,
the day,
yet not now the season.
He finds her worried face again
and continues.
All those around him
keep it from him-
the secret is-
nothing is gone,
nothing was done.
The detective searches
for himself in the clues
of unravelling time.
Copyright © Douglas Brown | Year Posted 2017
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