The man lied on white linen
Immaculate sheets of a hospital bed,
Swollen eyes red scleras
Broken capillaries bruises of violence.
His neck held still his body covered
He had been beaten to near death,
Afore his wife struck to the floor
By unscrupulous thieves who cut her earlobe,
In search of an inexistent safe they fled
With eighty dollars and a few credit cards.
Amongst the myriad questions the man was asked
By curious journalists eager to raise clamour,
One enquired on whether he would consider
Purchasing a weapon for personal defence.
Incredulous at the rampant cruelty
In agony and anguish he weakly shook his head,
I would never be able to hurt a man,
I could try to block him, avert the tragedy,
But I could never use a knife or a gun against him
Such violence simply does not pertain to me.
I thought about it for a while and realised
To my surprise that I in those conditions,
Probably could.
[Featured painting: Painting by Francis Bacon, 1946]