missing person report

Escorted to a room, told, “Please wait here.”
“Tomorrow” promised at our meeting place.
Two days elapsed, impatience turned to fear.
No note, no call, you’re gone without a trace.

Because there are no office chairs I pace
in long and curvy paths that overlap.
Each step becomes a wrinkle on my face
until my visage forms a worry map.

I pause but then my toes begin to tap
a tattoo in the silent, sullen room.
The sudden voice is like a thunderclap:
it asks me, “What’s the name?” I’m filled with doom.

Report submitted. Must it look so thin?
Was that the last? When did the end begin?

10 thoughts on “missing person report

  1. I love this especially: “Each step becomes a wrinkle on my face/until my visage forms a worry map”
    and those long and curvy overlapping paths are just right for a Spenserian sonnet. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. The word “tattoo” brought me back to Edinburgh when drummers played inside the castle and everyone in the city could hear it like a warning. Your attention to sound is so clear in this poem: toes/to tap/tattoo; sudden/sullen/silent.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I read and reread this poem. It is powerful for many reasons, most of them mentioned in previous comments. But I’d like to add one more: It doesn’t tell us too much, but let’s us fill in the rest of the story.


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