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.