Into a custom leather chair
The fat detective sits;
The Wolfe, that hefty man is there,
about to use his wits;
And the muscle he calls Archie
Is about to give him fits!
His hair is short, and brown, and gray,
He’s nobody’s buffoon;
He doesn’t pray or go away,
He always calls the tune,
And his face looks like the whole world,
At the very least, the moon!
Week in, week out, at nine and four,
You can hear the ‘vator’s squeaks;
You can hear the groan of metal moan
And cable as it shrieks,
It’s Theodore and orchid time
I’m not sure which he seeks!
And Cramer’s coming up the stoop,
He meets a chain-locked door;
He comes to practice baskets,
And to hear the bellows roar,
And it’s all the same old tired routine,
He’s done it lots before!
Wolfe goes on Sunday to The Times
And reads the whole damn thing;
The crossword is a goner,
So he gives the globe a fling,
Then hardbacks in the Brownstone,
In the office, Wolfe is king.
It sounds to him like Archie’s voice,
Nagging up a storm;
He needs must think of working,
The bank balance true to form,
Enough! Confound it! Pfui!
The harassment is the norm.
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees the food begun,
And you should see his clothes!
Something avoided, something read,
And smelling like a rose!
Thanks, thanks a lot, you portly louse,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
I’ve worked my ass off all my life,
Your comfort I have not;
And I only read about your life,
To get what you have got!