Becoming Watson

“I found a clue,” he’d say as he
Would pick up yet another object and
Inspect it under his magnifying glass
With the canary yellow handle.

He himself was a mystery,
Written out in pale skin,
Bony fingers, slate grey eyes,
And yellow-white hair
That would put a Swede to shame.

And against the silver-blue sky
We stood, two playground misfits –
One paler than the moon, the
Other, a chocolate brown mixed girl;

Examining clues and taking notes,
I forgot my tortures at the hands
Of other children. I forgot that
I should have been a girl playing house.

Instead, as one boy’s dreams turned
Him into Sherlock Homes,
I became Watson.

Written 8/17/2007

© 2007 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

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About ravenswingpoetry

I am a 35 year old writer from Columbus, OH and the creator of Raven's Wing Poetry. I am a poet, seeker, fellow traveler, and Aspie.

3 thoughts on “Becoming Watson

  1. Scott says:

    :-) Very nice! conformity is not always the way to be! Free spirit is much more fun and rewarding. I loved the story in this poem, thanks for sharing!

  2. punatik says:

    I loved this poem. Childhood memories. They way you described “Sherlock” was excellent.

  3. Brad says:

    A lovely poem/story. It speaks to the escapist in me.

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