The mystery writer
fits the stereotype,
hair not terribly
Dark blue t-shirt
and ratty deck shoes.
The help slathers
over him,
offering coffee.
And the woman
in a black pant suit
and high heels,
a jangle of gold jewelry
and nail polish,
who must be his
agent, streamlines
the process for him,
stacking open books.
In five minutes he has
signed three dozen copies
and is gone.
I guess this is how
these guys crank
out so many books –
they really do
write fast.