The image is clean-cut, the suit is tailored to fit
by Amy Gerrard
The signet rings glisten arrogantly;
A façade that hides a vicious shit.
He looks just like a company boss, his suit his pinstripe,
He sits. His tie is silk,
As forth he goes and beats,
His victims he loves to milk.
And on he goes, his career so grisly
Making someone’s life,
A complete and utter misery.
The car is a Jaguar, it has to be to lug.
As it houses and tugs along this vile thug.
As people stay well out of his way,
Hoping the day never dawns when he
Comes their way.
Happy that his day is done, back to his apartment he goes,
Whilst in his car boot smoking, all said and done,
Lays his warm, sawn-off shotgun.
‘You can’t pay? Tut-tut, what a shame, ’
And then he goes off and proceeds to maim.
A respectable image, he projects - is he kidding?
So easily it comes as well as a killing.
He’s streetwise, he knows, and legally he knows
The goss. As he over rides humanity, he doesn’t give a toss.
Who is hurt and what they owe means nothing to him
And on he’ll go. Like a violent toy pushing through crimes ranks,
Until the day dawns, when he won’t be thanked, for going too far,
A wrong move made, and like many of his kind,
End up dead or with acid they blind.
Smug he lives a life of ease (for now) ,
Never feeling love nor will ever please
Nor will ever experience joy
And when it’s over
No one will employ.
And when it’s all over, no one will employ….