by Nick Gisburne
The Calendar Cartel decides to pitch
A bomb inside the cogs of turning time.
Success would start no ordinary glitch:
Eternity, unwound, without its chime.
The radicals prepare to make their move.
Informants probe the plan: tonight, at nine.
The Seven Hands of High Command approve
A mission, with a cryptic, coded sign.
It activates an agent, tough and tall,
A master of the gun, the blade, the fist,
A spy, a shadow, ready for the call,
A secret, barely rumoured to exist.
Two buttons. Only one will foil the gang,
And, if he’s wrong, we’ll never hear the...
