[David Callin]

The urbane Inspector seals the area.
Under questioning secrets are revealed.
Alibis crumble under pressure.
Strange tyre tracks are found in a nearby field.

In the servants' quarters letters are discovered.
Nothing's quite what it appeared to be.
A trapdoor comes to light, a hidden cupboard.
The Inspector loses his urbanity,

but solves the case. Order is restored,
like someone righting deck chairs on a lawn
after a summer shower. The sullen cloud
retreats, abashed, before the complacent sun.

What time is it? I make it ten to three.
While some play tennis, others bring out the tea.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, David—

How Agatha Christie! If only all of our problems could be solved so promptly by the little Belgian inspector with his little gray cells. I enjoyed it!

A couple of nits:

1. In S1L3, I come up one syllable short for IP. How about “Alibis crumble on cross-examination?”

2. In S4L1, 2:50 P.M. seems very early for tea. How about “half past three” instead of “ten to three?”

Glenn

[Jayne Osborn]

In S4L1, 2:50 P.M. seems very early for tea. How about “half past three” instead of “ten to three?”

It's a nod to Rupert Brook's The Old Vicarage, Granchester, Glenn.

Stands the Church clock at ten to three?
And is there honey still for tea?

Jayne

[Carl Copeland]

This is good fun, David. A few thoughts:

I wouldn’t capitalize “Inspector,” but we Yanks are sparing with our capitals.

“Questioning” should really be followed by a comma, though the potential for misunderstanding is negligible.

“Appears”—in the present like all the other verbs in the poem—might give more of a sense of lingering mystery.

By losing his urbanity, your inspector breaks the cliché of the unflappable English detective, and I’m not sure why. This is one poem that thrives on its clichés.

[Richard G]

Hi David.

Entertaining read, despite those the two 'unders' in S1. Where I do pause is at the close. I'm not sure about 'others' being sufficient to restore the old (class) order. The line could be read as while some play tennis others (of the same class) bring out the tea. Surely someone should be ringing the bell for tea?
(a lawn or the lawn?)

RG.

[Carl Copeland]

In fact, I think I’d prefer it if the inspector preserved his urbanity, but solved the case. It’d make for a more traditional, but also more subtle backstory: it was a nerve-racking case, but he managed to solve it without losing his cool.

[Rick Mullin]

Isn't "taking tea at three" famously an act of the devil? ~,:^)

I like how this works, the transformation of the urbane inspector at the end of the octet where he loses his urbanity is a nice touch. He removes the dark cloud under which interesting things happen so the complacent sun can reemerge. People wake up to their dormant state. Once they get a grip on what time it is. I also like how the solved case is mentioned incidentally with no information on the result.

^^^ Elements of my reading.

No technical nits. Not even a wise crack about the spelling of tyre.

RM

[Hilary Biehl]

I enjoyed this, too. I'm reading it as a gentle satire on the cozy mystery genre.

Like Carl, I wondered about the inspector's loss of urbanity, but I think I would miss it if it were changed. I think the poem needs that slight touch of reality, of human weakness. Besides, "loses his urbanity" is a very polished, rather euphemistic way of saying it.

[James Brancheau]

I had more difficulty finding the center of this one—which I guess could be in some way part of the theme? It’s interesting that so many of the crits have focused at least some attention on the inspector's urbanity, or lack thereof. So maybe that is in fact, very quietly (politely?), very important to understanding the poem.

I’m not at all confident that I’m on to something here, btw, but I’ll attempt to go with it anyway. Perhaps the crux of this is that he does lose his composure, his politeness, and actually solving the case is secondary (which makes sense because we are kept in the dark about what actually happened, who did it, etc.). So “order is restored” may in fact be referring much more to the lack of decorum that the inspector displayed than the actual murder. That is, in a sense, the crime. The inspector I’m assuming is also probably from quite a different place, has a very different background from those he is investigating. So perhaps he also gave away his social status. And Rick bringing up the devil was great—I wouldn’t have ever spotted that, but it seems very right as they slip back into normalcy. (I was familiar with the 3 o’clock devil thing, but not the tea part.) With all this in mind, righting the deck chairs is a terrific gesture here. This reference to the Titanic, a place where social status was very clearly marked (from what I understand), was very appropriate, clever, and satisfying to this reader.

The long and short of it, David, is that I like this quite a bit, but it took me some time. As a poem like this should. Fine work.

[Jim Moonan]

.
Well, you have channeled the quintessential storyboard for a Brit-style whodunnit along the lines of Father Brown. (Not exactly Sherlock Holmes). I see your tongue in your cheek as plain as the nose on your face : ).

I do like the tidiness of it. The white glove neatness of the uncovering. It has the playful intrigue of a game of Clue. Seriously, I like it!

I interpret the "ten to three" line to be the time the murder was officially solved and the world returned to normal. My only question is why the Inspector is not the one to note the time instead of the N. I'm probably being dense. I hope my reading isn't too pat. I like how such a taboo as murder is treated with such a light touch. CDC (Classic David Callin).

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