A poem about punctuation - by Fran Hill

Punctuation passion

I don’t run charity marathons. I wouldn’t get that far.  

When I jog, worms speed past me. And jogging strains my bra.

I’ve never built a hospital in rural Kazakhstan.

I ought to give to chuggers, but dodge them if I can.

There’s one cause I’m supporting. I do it for the nation.

Apostrophes. I love them. My favourite punctuation.

They do for me what Clooney does. I go weak at the knees.

I sob if they are put among the carrot’s and the pea’s.

Some say they’re so old-fashioned in can’t and won’t and I’m,

that soon they will be obsolete, forgotten in no time.

They cite the case of Waterstones who dropped theirs. That was tragic.

I took weeks to recover, but the Prozac did its magic.

I may not bring the homeless or the lost back from the brink.

I search for lost apostrophes, replace them in red ink.

I’m not an eco-warrior, championing the rural.

I try to stop apostrophes arriving in a plural.

When lying on my deathbed, frail and nearly gone,

They’ll ask me of regrets. What did I wish I’d done?

I won’t say, ‘Feed the starving.’ I’ll say with my last breath,

‘Saved the poor apostrophe from inevitable death.’  

Fran is a writer and teacher (guess her subject ...) who lives in Warwickshire. Her new book 'Miss, What Does Incomprehensible Mean?' will be released by SPCK Publishing on 21 May this year. It's a funny but life-affirming memoir of a year in a teacher's life, written in diary form, and can be pre-ordered from SPCK or from Amazon or from Foyles. More about Fran and her work can be found at https://www.franhill.co.uk/