• I met her walking through the underpass.
    She should've been at home, that time of night
    and so I left her, jewelled with broken glass
    and bruises under frank fluorescent light.

    She didn't put up too much of a fight.
    She couldn't, really, being eighty-three.
    But if she hadn't clutched her bag so tight,
    there may have been no need for savagery.

    In fact, if everyone just handed me
    the things that I require, without delay
    or argument, perhaps I wouldn't be
    the vicious b*****d in the dock today.

    But life's a b***h. One has to struggle through
    the best one can. Bad news for her, and you.