The Watchword's Hour - Barry Bostwick

When moonlight drips into the frame

And darkness marks stray souls to claim

He stands in vigil, taking aim

The hour belongs to the Watchword

In shattered halls where pupils sleep

He peers through peepholes, counting sheep

He draws his lens, and with a sweep

The hour belongs to the Watchword

The signal flickers, dark and red

From the buzzbox by your bed

Transmissions of this evening’s dread

And in a flash

Click, click

The hour belongs to the Watchword

When mischief longs you from your cot

And focus twists and shadows plot

He winds, he aims and takes his shot

The hour belongs to the Watchword

Meanwhile, back at the vault

In amber light where prints are traced

He trains a dogged eye

By negatives, he stamps the fleece

And hangs them out to dry

Exposed in baths

Inverted cut

In rows of numbered faces

Developed in observance

Aired as chilling nightly cases

The signal flickers dark and red

From the buzzbox by your bed

Transmissions of this evening’s dread

And in a flash

Click, click

The hour belongs to the Watchword

Restless ears should hit the sack

For he holds service on nude backs

And pictures you in white or black

The hour belongs to the Watchword

The hour belongs to the Watchword

Tonight’s case: «Out Beyond the Depths»

It all began with a dame.