O, Precious Detective

Submitted into Contest #37 in response to: Write a story about a valuable object that goes missing.... view prompt



The plates crashed against the floor

The commotion neared the door

The footsteps hit along the broad corridor,

But no one could seem to stop the horror 

Of the thief who seemed to want so much more

Than the precious silver forks: four. 

And the butler screamed

As the maid fell

And the gardener cried

At the fire trucks bell

But one person watched behind curtains.

You see, no one saw what lurked in the night.

No one was prepared to put up a fight.

No one knew they were in for a fright,

Or that their lives would take a turn, not to right,

So no one was there to flick on the light

And expose the vandal who crept: a delight.

The butler still screamed

Ad the maid still fell

And the gardener sobbed

At the fire trucks sad bell

But that person still watched behind curtains.

The detective came in just a week later

He rose to the case like a working elevator

He brushed off his clothes,

Punched a guard in the nose,

And said, “How’s that, you rude hater?” 

The case had been closed 

And the story seemed done,

But our intrepid protagonist had not had his fun. 

He had heard the strange tales

From the maid, butler, and gardener

He had heard the stories and had to conclude

That he would have to be sharpener

To catch the bad thief who stole more than a fork

He would have to be fast, and smart like sweet Bjork.

That night when the butler yelled

And the maid was befelled

When the gardener wept

Where was the bespelled?

The witch, the tricks, the wizard,

The bony old batty lizard?

The detective knew now

What he didn’t know then

He knew the new clues

From the little red hen

If he followed the tracks 

And from a path did not stray

The detective would keep his job another day.

You see, when he walked in that house on that morning,

He found that some of the staff was not mourning

The loss of their boss found dead in the pool

After the robbing of four forks and a mule.

So the detective asked each and every one,

Where they were when the story had begun.

Just as he suspected when he was through, 

The suspect was none other than old Mr. VanSue,

The neighbor who watched from across the way.


The butler was busy

The maid was quite down

The gardener was watering with his tears the ground

But the one person who wasn’t occupied during this time

Was the little old man with his eyes on the dime,

For the forks were worth a pretty penny,

And the mule was a good escape,

But what Mr. VanSue wanted more that both those,

Was the thought of the lead of the household

Gone and strangled in the cloth of a drape.

“Ah ha ha ha!” Cried detective

Triumphant fists in the air,

“Oh yes!” Cried detective

Bended fingers in his hair.

He hadn’t had much luck in the past,

But now his career was moved to full blast

His trick with the crook

And the flip of the sneak

Had made his confidence

Go to wonderful from bleak,

And he had hit the highest peak

His mood was otter sleek,

And he vowed to not be meek,

And defend forks forever more 


No one died from robberies skewed

No one drowned in poisons brewed,

No innocent heart unglued,

No things chewed

That are not food

And until every unredeemable case

Had been renewed. 

It would be a harrowing time, 

A time in which crime would climb

A time corroded in slime

E criminals and robbers,

The crooked mothers and their cobblers,

The sisters and their misters

The brothers and their others

All the nannies and the grannies

The old pa’s and the faux pas

All the little latkes lined up in a row

When the wild winds begin to blow

The detective will reap and he will sow

And finally he will know

That to a carnival he will go

To find the clowns and kookaburras 

All the lovely tiny brachyura

Going absolutely crazy lunatic: locura. 

The detective knew, he truly knew

That in his cold and gray eyes,

He wasn’t afraid of the dark,

But what in it lies.

He was scared that if he wasn’t brave

He would soon become a slave

To his worst enemy; an early grave,

From working morning, noon, and eve,

Or maybe never saving Steve,

The train engine, 


Mob boss Steve.

Yes, the butler knew how to serve

And the maid used to have better balance

The gardener grew the best carrots

And the fire engine was valence,

But once upon a time 

There was a crash and bang

A ring to be rang

And the detective couldn’t do it. 

So he would have to make up for lost time. 

He would have to solve a case,

For all the lost battles,

And puddles of Mace,

Dripping along the edges of a silent parking garage.

The detective flinched to think of the past,

Of things he thought too good to last,

Even when they were gone, he thought they left too fast.

Was it because of the midlife crisis?

Or an existential one at that?

Did the detective think he was getting old?

Or that he was now a baseball bat?

Why did ice cream splat?

Are there no more jellicle cats? 

Did those dumplings make me fat?

Or did the lack of pillows make me flat?

The detective said, “I’m such a brat.”

But a brat that was good at solving mysteries,

Would never give up for anything

Because he knew what was at stake. 

Cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake Cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake. 

Cake cake! 

The End. 

And some more cake for fun. 

(Author’s Note: I don’t know if anyone will read this ridiculous poem to the end, but I needed some more words. So hi. How are you? Is this a time of turmoil and trouble in your life? If so, I have some words for you. I bet you can maybe probably guess what they are. Because I said it just a couple times in this poem. It starts with a “C” and has “Ak” in the middle and ends with “E”. It’s called cake. I like, recommend it strongly. Thank you for listening to my TED Talk. I wrote at least a thousand words for this poem but for some strange reason it wouldn't take when I attempted to submit it. You can stop reading it now if you want to. I won't mind. I'm just talking to you for the words. But it's nice to have someone to talk to, now that I think of it. It's so lonely at home even though I live in a field of roses and... you know what? I'm not even sure what I'm saying anymore. But thanks for reading my latest nonsense.)

April 11, 2020 03:36

You must sign up or log in to submit a comment.


Thotsuki Bakuhoe
08:37 May 27, 2020

I liked this story, keep up the great work. Have a great day! : )


Show 0 replies
Len Mooring
09:30 May 15, 2020

'...he would have to be sharpener.' Oh what a poet you truly are I should have seen you from afar Waving your keyboard looking for rhymes An insomniac waiting for the morning chimes. Anyway, I hope you had fun putting together the 'Keats' and 'Shakespeare.'


Jubilee Forbess
13:45 May 15, 2020

As it turns out, writing at least a thousand words of poetry isn't very easy! If it was, I would put a lot more of my poetry on this website. Alas, we will have to wait for my collections to get published. :(


Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Katy S.
21:39 Apr 30, 2020

Well that's lovely!


Show 0 replies

Bring your short stories to life

Fuse character, story, and conflict with tools in the Reedsy Book Editor. 100% free.