Called from London, the Great Detective
travels first class. (He will answer for this
when the sink estates rise against Lestrade’s men.)
The famous sleuth looks as always
for clues and reasonable motives – jealously, greed -
but beyond his magnifying glass
the world is creeping up on him
and the pointless murders happen with genocide speed.
Moriarty is unmasked
but removes a second disguise. Underneath
he is something much worse
and this time, he will win.
If you have any comments on this poem, David Whippman would
be pleased to hear from you.