MYSTERY WRITE
Mark Sonnenfeld
Maids
so mysterious
make and remake
beds on the fifth floor staircase
of mahogany reasoning Understand
it's by a lamppost
I find myself poor shadows
in somesort of circumstance to birdsong
Naturally it's a falcon Outside silent
availability At the guest registry hollow
wood
I don't stay but breathe
1,000 times the pewter&the biscuits
have gotten too polite
tendencies So
I lean clumsily
about In the bar bounds
of familiarity dangling in the chimes A slow and
rhythmic break in the silence It's sudden
For a while on again off again
fake screams A maid's brother
and 4 or 5 gunshot contradictions
to an old fashioned candlestick No tricks gentlemen!
says the chief inspector His glass of wine
to the brim A topcoat way
of no compassion
he rehearsed
whatever
shreds of evidence
or smalltalk remain It was
quarter to dawn
The train chuffs to a halt The last one minute
of uncertainty
and illogic whereabouts of some length of rope
half an eye from the wall along
the usual route
the signals
repeated &
terrified the neighborhood Indeed
I saw it in the later drizzle The newsprint reluctance
list the namely suspects Our own chief inspector (WHAT?)
wore hornrimmed glasses Et cetera Et cetera Et
cetera Our tuneless thanks&in black&white
conformity to less Was a dynamite twist!
