To find clues where there are none, <br />That's my job now, I said to the <br />Dictionary on my desk. The world beyond <br />My window has grown illegible, <br />And so has the clock on the wall. <br />I may strike a match to orient myself <br /> <br />In the meantime, there's the heart <br />Stopping hush as the building <br />Empties, the elevators stop running, <br />The grains of dust stay put. <br />Hours of quiescent sleuthing <br />Before the Madonna with the mop <br /> <br />Shuffles down the long corridor <br />Trying doorknobs, turning mine. <br />That's just little old me sweating <br />In the customer's chair, I'll say. <br />Keep your nose out of it. <br />I'm not closing up till he breaks.<br /><br />Charles Simic<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/private-eye/
