A Speech With Two Motives
Kirk goes back to practised cadence,
With it he hits ears, no conscience,
Great stir in a once mute audience,
Afresh bides his time: Great Patience…
Talks triggered between close sitters
That a night guard steals embitters:
His straight sack: more hard hitters:
‘People’s wealth the meanly fritters!’
At the right time drop microphone:
Now, your voice is a xylophone.
They all hear you, no francophone.
If there’s one he should guess through tone.
What speakers do is stamp knowledge,
Over the rest ‘some sort of edge’:
That of one who’s passed through college,
Night candles not burnt sacrilege…
The Guard who steals likes his worst foes;
Just time he stepped on his seen toes
But like one fighting men’s woes:
It hurts when what comes quickly goes.
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