Fists

Fists flare up
Against soft flesh.
Old songs speak of old scores
Football or wars? It's the same
Both end in blood. A fight breaks out
Outside the pub and grey houses,
A man dies. Violence is born.

Who will fists pick as their next victim?
A woman who mumbles
Some phrase. She has muscles
From all her hard work.
Fists think she's worthless:
They kill her.

Beats hit the streets
Mean city streets,
An old timer plays his trumpet
Fills all with delight.
Well, almost all,
Silence breaks out, shocking.

When pubs shut
Fists stumble
To a takeaway (where neon menus
Advertise what can be taken out)
A part-time student stands behind the counter,
She's not on the menu
Still, fists take her life away.

Staring at the dole queue
Caused by the recession,
A question's asked:
'Can't fists attack the rich?'
A mother finds her son's body
As dead as his granddad's bones
Beside it a note.
'This is for what daddy did'
The wall bears familiar graffitti.

Fists are picking out their targets

Like stored up nuclear weapons

Ready for total annihilation.

And only brains can stop them.