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In this story, the amateur sleuth is a poet
everywhere she goes, this dame,
with her silk stockings and bobbed hair
her wise mouth, rhinestones, heels—
instead of murders she uncovers
metaphors in the drawing room or train car,
country estate, vicarage, village or
Speakeasy. Our sleuth keeps at it until
the reader is convinced—
every single day
is chockful of mysteries waiting to be revealed
Waiting for any of us, poets all, to notice

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