I throw a party on my desk with style as my honored guest.
The question marks gather, pestering me for answers.
The commas offer a brief reprieve.
Alas, just when I come to a full stop, two dots join in, an ellipsis occurs, and the conundrum drags on.
Adjectives chase after my nouns, and the adverbs latch on to my verbs.
The prepositions drink too much and trip all over the place.
Interjections cause a racket and my pronouns are confused.
And then conjunctions crash the party.
The sentences arrive, some of them dressed down while others are garbed with long trains.
The main clauses join up with subordinators, causing a commotion,
And all, including me, are tangled up in a syntactic tango.
The door swings open, and the tenses make a grand entrance.
Some do the mambo, some do free-style with a bit of hip hop, others revive robot-ing as the dance that’s yet to be,
While I get lost in the time warp.
Stop, I pull an imperative from my holster.
Enough, I wield an exclamation point like a drunken knight at my guests.
They exit gruffly, resentfully, leaving me alone with a hopelessly blank page.
Without them, style is a no-show.