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.