Mike Berger’s poem Darkest Hour appeared here in July. This poem is very different from that: light and amusing as opposed to sad and introspective.
Doctor Watson
By Mike Berger
In the accounts of Sherlock Holmes,
Dr Watson gives Holmes all the credit.
Watson was never given the same keen
powers of observation.
Watson was, however, that cunning one.
He played second fiddle with aplomb,
content to give Holmes the accolades.
For all of his brilliant intellect and powers
of deduction, Holmes was blind as a bat
to the intimacies around him.
He was oblivious to the obvious. Watson,
deeply grieving over the death of his wife,
struck up a clandestine affair with
Mrs. Hudson. Holmes didn’t have a clue.
Reading from his journals, Watson would
speak in dreary monotones. In a matter
of minutes, Holmes was off to sleep. Then
Watson would surreptitiously sneak into
Mrs. Hudson’s bedroom.
Holmes missed the only clues of the
ongoing affair. Watson would awaken
exhausted but with a wry smile on
his face.
Very clever! My husband and I are big SH fans.
That sneaky devil, pulled one over on the master.