I am a fan of the Oxford comma.
I am a fan of the way, like long showers,
it gives me clarity. Let's return
to lessons of elementary school,
telling us to list the things we like--
ice cream, warm sand, staying up
late, really, really, really late--
and follow each with its own comma,
except the last. Follow rolling down
the library hill in summer
with a period. There will be many lists--
to dos, the groceries, intimate partners--
and after the last period, there will be
a pause, forever.
Astute pupils dilated and backs straight,
the grammar lessons took.
But we were never taught what to do
when blood begins to puddle
in the base of our underwear,
and who to confide in
when we're twelve years old
and far from home, and what to say.
yes, I am a fan of the Oxford comma,
but not of the Oxford.
We'll call it the loose-tooth comma,
the unkissed, the hand-me-down comma.
We'll call it rolling down library hill
or cannonball into the pool. Call it
please, go on a little longer, or
don't let go. Don't wish the end,
the end. The End.