Today’s prompt was to write a poem in which you hate something small…

You’re always there at the end

of things – you’re the executioner

of the literary world, overseeing

the demise of the sentence –

cutting the paragraph off in its

prime.  You’re small, but full

of a sense of your own power.

All the other punctuation marks

have to. Bend to your tyranny as

you herd words into smaller. And

smaller.  Spaces.  You solemnly

mutilate phrases. Chop down

clauses.  Just. Because.  You. Can.

Somebody needs to do something

about you.  Somebody needs to

end your oppression. 

Somebody needs to bring it to a

stop