Norman Dukes wrote "Sherlock Holmes Dances," which appears in The Reckless Sleeper, pp. 6-7.
There was no other way
to get the evidence.
I danced near them
for hours in a crowd.
My pipe flew from my pocket
and disappeared,
I lost buttons off my vest.
It was against my
every sense of things,
but I found adaptable muscles
and no end of partners:
sequined ladies, brocaded ladies,
sweatered ladies, blue-jeaned
ladies . . . and breasts,
so many breasts, appearing
and disappearing,
the larger ones always
(I noted) a little behind
the direction the body took.
That principle I knew.

Eyes closed or turned up
or turned down were disappointed
when the music stopped.
What do they want, I thought,
but I kept going, I wore them out,
I had my couple to watch.
I was with a thin lady in yellow
and a little tired
when the Maid, a wild smile on her face,
her green eyes rolling,
pranced a circle around the Butler
and put a hand in his pocket
in a way obviously practiced
for months. I had them.
But God it was elementary.
Watson, it turned out
that they did it
and then, right there,
they did it.

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