Anger wears different clothes

Anger wears different clothes

To disguise its intent

Trying not to be recognised

When seen out of place

Priding itself in maintaining

A sense of proportion

Abhorring notoriety

It makes concession

To an appropriate expression

Of controlled aggression

A fashionable response

A genial release

Is the best fit

If it was a shoe

It would have sharp pointy toes

Made of steel

A jab as clean as Muhammad Ali

Dance like Fred Astaire

In a quick-step with Ginger

Stealing the limelight everytime

With a look so refined

In tophat and tails

Not a hair shirt

Covered in dirt

It is high class

Its energy dissipating

In largesse,

Open-handed gestures

Are the real deal

In a tight fight

Brutality is cold

With little regard

For the aftermath

Anger has a conscience

Worn thin from overwork

Hung on a peg

By the side of the bed

For the night

Otherwise

It would keep sleep at bay

There is a queue of walkers

With thin skin

Standing in line

To try it on for size

If it fits,

As often as not

It is stuffed

Into small boxes

Held together with frayed

String...waiting to break

Shoehorned

Into swollen egos

Kept under wraps

Forced to contain

Too much in too small a space

Exploding unexpectedly

Hurting bystanders

The veracity

Of its argument

The value of its worth

When worn well

Lost

By the sharp edge

Of a belt buckle

The crunch of a jackboot

The snap of a jaw bone

The scowl on a bloodied face

As displaced anger

Succumbs

To an indiscriminate

Eruption

Of volcanic rage.