A poem by Jim Stewart-Evans, taking a comical and violently literal approach to the notion of killing time. Illustration by Tavis Coburn.

His low blows once struck and left no trace,
but today I smashed grandfather’s face,
I smashed his face and cut my fists,
with shard-grained knuckles, scarlet wrists,
I held his hands in mine.

I opened up his antique chest,
snatched the heart out from his breast,
raised the ticker high aloft,
felt its leaden weight was hard not soft,
and marvelled at my crime.

I’ll crush all those that ring alarm,
break each and every waving arm,
smash faces in and sever hands,
bury deep in shifting sands:
today I’m killing time.

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