Suppose

Suppose you found a bastard in your home.
What would you do? Pick up a handy broom
And beat him carelessly from room to room
Until he cried for mercy? Would you roam
From room to room with crowbars made of chrome,
A shining violence, a day-bright doom?
Or promise him a disappearing tomb
And shift from room to room, a wicked gnome?

And now suppose you were a rabid sort,
A biter with a bad case of the pox,
And found yourself in trouble, throwing rocks
At someone you once loved. You are a wart,
A scandal, a flâneur, a rude retort,
An immigrant from space. Pull up your socks.