Today fog gulped me down,
tight wrapped its arms
like grandma woolies and snug cocoons
tucked me into the top
drawer of the bureau of investigation
blinded and crumpled,
could have been wars fought outside
my window for all I knew
I hugged my trusty sensory uptake equipment
opened my detective suite
prepared to search for clues, a suspect
Where is the sun?
(This isn’t funny any more)
Let’s be practical I said, dusting the fog
for fingerprints.