Other boys stay out late and smoke.
They use bad words.
They worship false gods.
When they ask me to come along
I say I’m busy.
I’m keeping my hands clean.
It’s been hard work, really really hard work
keeping my hands clean all these years.
I do not live in a glass house.
I am not one of those people.
I’ve earned the right.
And now I’m throwing rocks at you.
you throwing rocks at me? Throwing at me?
HEY JOEYYY! GUYS THrowing rocks at me?
I said, you throwing em’ at me?
Huh?
Poetry’s so good, huh,
alrigth big guy, i’ll give you this one
just back off the commas
ok?
I think this goes beyond beautiful. Really well done.
This one just gets better every time i come back for more.
Wow. This one is amazing. Bravo!
I, too, have read and reread this. It seems to go one level deeper than many of your poems. It works on more than one level: exploits the epigram/cliche, ofers contrast and a constructed diction that makes the speaker at once one of the boys and one of the adults. Funny and not funny. A tinge of melancholy, a hint of superiority, maybe envy. Wanting to belong, wanting to rise above it, be a grown-up. Nice work. Commas not a problem for me.
I don’t get the comma thing. There’s one very little, completely non-offensive comma in the whole poem!
some folks are just comma shy. maybe they got sick once eating too many commas. or they were locked in the comma closet as a childhood punishment.
i try to avoid the comma myself (though i suffered no pause-related traumas…that i can recall).
JOEY!! They’re telling us they got something wrong with our commas remark!
OH REALLY!
Well, let me tell you all to get away from here’a
Yeah get away from here’a
Bad Comma sticking round a joint like this
commageddon–pregnant pauses running through the streets gathering up stones