“I’m Not Having That!”

It came as a shock,

A sensationalist presenter of a tabloid talk show,

Dead, killed, live on TV.

 

He had been crouched low,

In front of the set.

Goading an increasingly agitated-looking guest.

Waving typed-out notes in one hand,

Pointing his microphone accusingly in the other.

 

The murmuring of the audience increased in volume as he spat out formulaic provocations.

 

Where were the security staff,

As the burly youth rose from his chair?

All at once running and swinging his leg backwards,

Before bringing his boot into contact

With the underside of his inquisitor’s chin.

 

Over,

In less than two seconds.

 

It was shown and re-shown, endlessly on the news.

Stopping just before the critical moment,

To spare viewers of an unpleasant scene,

As a body lifted up and a head snapped backwards.

 

A mercifully,

Quick release.

For all concerned

And for all people everywhere,

Including ancestors and descendants.

 

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