There are some words and phrases
to which I would happily take a hammer
an imposing (or is it ‘impressive’?)
I hadn’t realised just how
utterly detestable I find
the yoking of these two words,
until I found myself awake at 4-something
in the morning,
for the fifth day in a row.
And there it was,
taunting me with its ugly weirdness.
Even on the page,
it has an American accent.
I see it written
in a humming, pink neon tube,
and I set about its axey destruction.
The shattered remnants,
lying scattered at my feet,
reconnect to one another
as if they are an immortal android
from a high-budget science-fiction film,
and the phrase blinks into life again,
the hum and the glare
more menacing than before.
The neon does not yield
to a second axe-attack.
Seemingly like a Borg,
its exposure to one form of weaponry
apparently leads to immunity from a second attack,
and I have to shoot it up
with a bullet-spitting automatic gun.
History repeats itself,
and I begin to suspect
that the phrase is indestructible.
With my arsenal of mind weapons,
I melt, explode, vaporise,
and finally launch it into outer space
at several time the speed of light
until it ends up:
plum spang in the heart of a distant galaxy.