In the drawing room, assembled
all the suspects lounged, arrayed
upon the chaise, the love seat,
sundry comfy chairs, or
leaning rakishly against
the paneled wall, hard by
the mantelpiece and cupboards strewn
with china boats and goats, and maudlin
figurines of shepherds,
ballerinas,
astronauts
(incongruously enough),
in the silence of the consciousness
of some impending awful guilt,
awaiting the detective,
who has as much as insinuated
that all will be made crystal,
just as soon as he's divested
self and disabused all present of
all and any smoked red herrings, and
deceptive, miscast leads, in one big
tour de force performance/
slash fishing expedition,
hoping the one that got away
is right here in this room,
at this moment. If not, well
perhaps we'll try another game.
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