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I got lost in a book 
somewhere in between 
the opening line 
and chapter nineteen. 
I couldn't get out. 
There wasn't a way, 
trapped in a plot 
that was strictly horseplay. 

You better send teams 
who are willing to search 
for clues in a murder 
committed in church, 
where money is missing, 
and candlesticks too. 
Poor Reverend Reicker, 
found dead in a pew! 

I need a stiff drink. 
I'm as dry as a bone. 
Police everywhere, 
and Detective Malone. 
He's asking me questions. 
What? When? And why? 
My mind is a blank, 
and I've no alibi. 

Everything's here... 
all the parts of a novel, 
the setting, the crime, 
(I'm starting to grovel) 
clues for the clueless, 
a climax so close. 
I'm an innocent bystander, 
in bed, comatose! 

"If you aren't the killer; 
if you aren't the crook, 
just how in the Hell did you 
get in this book?" 

"It's the fault of the author. 
He's just too damned good. 
He scattered the words, 
And I went where I could." 

Copyright © Kim McAdam