You may know of my affinity for mystery novels and shows. For example, just finished the book, THE POET, by Michael Connelly. Anyway, I can’t tell where ‘inspiration’ for a poem will come from…I just have to be open to it. Then it can be enjoyable playing with the words, beats, and meanings. That’s what happened with this one.


I am lurking here
in my trademark raincoat
more than a little worse for the wear
aiming for nonchalance and blending in
but radiating just the opposite
brimming with curiosity
poking around
Remembering how I always wanted to be Columbo
the relentless detective
On his own
digging into it
seeking the clues
unnerving the suspect
Whiling away the time with a delicious dance
of penetrating questions
getting to the bottom of the mystery
Slowing putting it all together
applying the heat until
The case cracked wide open
and harsh revelations emerged.

So now it comes as no surprise
that this moment of self-reflection
is subtly turning into the third degree
I am seeing a bright light that is not there
Interrogating myself in my swirling head
Coming up with all
the no-nonsense inquiries
Making memory hum and overheat
Cutting through every possible alibi and excuse
Refusing to let myself off the hook.
Ripping all my lame defenses to shreds
Milking the guilty conscience
Pushing through for an honest and unforgiving
appraisal of a life lived.

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