Fist

I watch its angry arc
through treacle time
its fury almost graceful,
with a hint of haste

 
this clenched missive
each knuckle sketched
its disgusted patina
aimed at my nose

 
I do not flinch
though I cry ‘I’m sorry’
is it this?
or the force of my gaze?

 
your arrested fist
brushes rather than crushes
and I cry
‘I’m sorry’

______________________________
Today there was a poetry competition at the Dan O’Connell. The challenge was to use the line ‘graceful, with a hint of haste’. The above was my entry. It probably needs some more work. It does, however, truthfully describe one moment of my life. Congratulations to Timothy Train, Eric Beach and Mary Stone for your winning efforts.

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