Ode to Old Mystery Novels

Ode to Old Mystery Novels 

Oh, mystery novels of old
whose plots escape me so readily
that I can re-read them so steadily,
with even greater mild delight
in the details that bring to light
the epiphanies to come
(ah, I remember now)—
how the hero/heroine will sum
up all the side stories, save
the complicated day—

Oh little time capsules with a couch,
sinkholes of possibly otherwise troubled hours—-little bowers of
wrongs righted (and so cozily!)

I can even walk, reading you—
and if someone talks to me, say completely unselfconsciously, “huh?”

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Poem for April 10.  Have a good day!

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