There’s no subtlety around here,
though much is left unsaid.
We all have mallets like the white-wigged judge
and we hammer, hammer, hammer
our point in deep,
little blows that don’t knock you down,
just bite behind your ears like blackflies,
chip off pieces so tiny
you don’t notice
The fax machine beats us all
to the punch. Hot off the presses!
Stacks of transmission reports reading
Failure, Failure, Failure.