Bang Up


Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang,

Relentless, fruitless, desperate, protest or plea?

Wonder how many blows you have taken;

to craft that shellac suit around your spirit.

A secret life story even you will not now know;

People have seen you as the gangster not the beaten child.

Too many scars by your hands on bodies and souls;

The patience of saints all but exhausted.

Beating at the cell door and baiting of the staff;

This is sport, distraction from thoughts of any tomorrow.

This isn’t personal, well not normally, sorry Guv;

But you get to touch another, to feel, even if in pain.

At the darkest hour there might be a cut or perhaps a knot;

A rumble of boots, then lights, camera and action.

Strangers fighting for life, squelching in your blood;

When you wake it is not just another day, it is opportunity.

You can bang the door but the silence would be noticed more.



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