impossible speed challenge

for fingers more meant

to brutalise than nurture,

punch not quench

 

nothing delicate

has come from this,

it’s shaken not stirred,

a snapper of wrists

 

dogma of prowling,

hate & steal,

leading with the forehead,

keeping things real.

 

Liberated from actions

reasoning’s fine,

but why, tell me why

has it started to rhyme?

 

who set the default

to way back when?

pushed nursery remit

to the front again?

 

what if there’s no action

to make this stop?

Just beat it to death –

and bury the box.