The mysteries and, of course, the murder

are all revealed in a parchment envelope

marked ‘Confidential’

and placed beside Mr. Boddy

along with his deceased wealth of knowledge

in the cellar.


Professor Plum, noted metaphysician,

sipping sherry in the conservatory

points out that we see only the tip

of the iceberg and miss the berg.

It’s there in the brain, filtered,



Colonel Mustard belting single malt,

his seed larger than

the kingdom of Heaven,

is preoccupied in the billiard room

with the hiked skirt of Miss Scarlet

who leans into a massé shot,


reflectively pointing out that,

reality only exists when

it bumps into another reality.

The colonel in a whiskey rasp retorts

Poppycock, balderdash, it’s all just

deductive reasoning,


Mr. Green is sure that matter

is mostly empty, fluffed probability,

more like thought than thing,

and that the government knows all

but refuses to tell,

at least this generation.


Mrs. Peacock practicing saying

Good evening in the mirror

says that she can prove it

if we join her in the library

and that the height of arrogance

is creating God in your own image.


Mrs. White, busy inspecting

the table settings in the dining room,

is convinced that while there is no

out there out there independent of in here,

her main concern is that no one suspects

her of stealing the small shampoos and lotions.


  1. Hi Craig

    This is both wonderfully clever and witty! I love your twist on the mind set/outlook of each character. I would say I their own way, they might mirror some human beings we all know from here or there. Each one adds not only to the game but to the overall composition of this poem. This is well done and engages the reader from start to finish.

    much enjoyed!


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