The Punctuation Tried too Hard

and hung awkward, like a semicolon
sitting smug between two ideas that at
first glance seemed made for each other;
the first kiss that brushed against chapped lips
on a couch decorated by red Dixie cups
and the perfume of a Coors coated exclamation
point. It’s hard to hold excitement down
when it keeps coming up.

And the couple sits parenthetically
(scrunched between a conversation),
holding hands that form a period
succinctly keeping the thought from spilling
out as beer that creeps along the tarnish
of a wooden floor held down by
question marks in italics, blinking
rapidly and trying not to fade into
the ruckus of rampaging commas interrupting,
interjecting like sparrows
chasing birdseed with tiny, worn stones.

The aftermath leaves the ellipses alone,
pondering the skipping record, needle
held tightly by the end quotes:
“What is love? Baby don’t hurt me,
don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me…”



One response to “The Punctuation Tried too Hard”

  1. Love hurts; so true. It doesn’t help to plead or try to rearrange your way of thinking; it is just the nature of the beast. Wish love was easy!

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