Why do I often put to press,
Before I've checked the draft?
It usually gets me in a mess,
And yet again I've gaffed.

My road from brain to mouth seems short,
Too straight and all downhill.
So fast, once off words can't be caught,
On target for the kill.

Short of stitching up my lips,
Or pulling out my tongue.
How do I stop-dead hasty quips,
Too quickly careless flung?

Well now, I simply count to ten,
To slow each thought's descent.
Proofread; typeset, to print and then,
You should hear what was meant.