Thursday, February 02, 2006

Version

If twelve or thirteen of your smart retorts
Were not enough to justify my fear,
You raised your hand towards me. It was clear
That it would come to violence. The courts
Take a dim view of your version of sports,
Where all the action takes place round my ear
And temples. Contrary to what you hear,
Juries don't flinch every time a judge snorts.

Injustice isn't just a word to you,
It is a way of life, however sad
And lonesome, something neither good nor bad,
But brutal and inept. You want a clue:
You live too freely by your wits, too few
To make a good life for yourself. Too bad.

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