Generally I have a very cool and level head, but there are certain occasions when keeping a lid on my temper costs me something by way of personal sanity. On the day the gang-affiliated tosspot half my age decided to amuse himself by deliberately spraying his deodorant in my face from the seat behind me on the bus, I held my tongue and counted to ten (I’m not suicidal), and did a lot of silent cursing while the tears of ocular irritation ran down my face. Then I penned this vicious little snippet.

There are days when I wish
For a knife or a gun
So the dickhead behind me
Receives what may come
Controlling my temper
Gets harder to do
Imagining harm
Satisfying and new
On occasions where patience
Has already snapped
Where my favoured response
Involves scalpel and sac
I content myself knowing
A hex may do more
Inflicting revenge
For the merciless boor