CONSTRUCTING THE PERFECT SENTENCE

The sentence looked at me
in despair

as if I'd made it wear
both dependent and independent clauses

and yet another
parenthical in its hair.

It felt foolish as in
very very very.

"All the other sentences
will laugh at me!"

"Go on...!" I said
bullying it.

It looked at me
as if to plead

"Can we stop(ow)now
...please?"

Then tacking on a tacky
"...pretty pretty please!"

But I hadn't(gasp)yet
run out of mental breath.

I hadn't even realised that
the sentence was no longer

following me and indeed
had fallen asleep curled up

on( oh no not )
yet another ****** semi-colon.

When I came to
my senses or

what there was left
of them. . .

I grabbed it by the scruff
of the page in a rage

&: stopped
un-squashed its A4

constructing a crude
paper aeroplane

that flew ( oh how )
it flew

into the blue
plain wastepaper bin.

At last the sentence had found
a home

in the last line
of this ****** %*!! poem.