On Punctuation
Forget the comma,
that little busybody.
I propose a toast to
the unfettered line
gleeful and whistling
as it speeds along in its roadster
flicking cigarette ash out the window
blowing red lights
sending semicolons
and asterisks
scrambling for cover
as the forgotten comma,
stiff-lipped and proper,
directs traffic in
the intersection,
its whistle blaring,
its little white gloves
ordering everything
to a halt,
everything but the rogue line
which speeds
headlong into
the night
its long hair
blowing in the wind
its yee-haws and hell-yeahs
echoing down alleyways
and into young ladies’ ears
as they dance in their kitchens
alone
drinking wine from the bottle
their parentheses
jiggling in their blouses
their imaginations carrying them away
to bedrooms full of exclamation points
far away from this nagging fear
about missed periods
and that lazy brotherhood
of potbellied question marks
known as their husbands.
