Every now and then, it is necessary
to let the blighters have it.

Blighters put the milk in first,
stir like oarsmen,
slurp,
burp,
and do not know their place.

Every now and then, it is necessary
to teach the blighters a lesson they will never forget.

On the cricket pitch of life,
there is no place for those
who grease
the crease,
and bowl with low, illicit balls.

Every now and then, it is necessary
to have the blighters drink a little bile,

to introduce the upstarts
to the ministrations of the cane —
the crack
on back
that makes impertinence amenable.

Along the bristling border, clipped mustaches
quiver with resolve. Nostrils flare at 5am.