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Apostrophe,
the Queen of Sole Possession
Apostrophe, the Queen, it seems
has grown possessive on the throne.
She conspires in conjunction with others
And seeks to gain control,
sole ownership of the crown.
You must understand it is imperative
you understood her last command.
You must question Mark,
on who and what and why,
before the King, Parenthesis, arrives,
for he’ll surely capitalizes on all he essays,
and we’ll face stiff sentences for our treachery,
I cannot punctuate that enough
but don’t quote me, you see,
it is her singular intent
to move past tense
and actively voice her discontent,
exclaim for all here to hear,
her point that all of it’s is its for ever more
and that’s the end of it, period.
Mistaken
Identity
When I came out of the pizza place there was a
man sitting in my car. “Excuse me,” I said. “But
you’re in my car.” “No I’m not,” he
said. “It’s my
car. Bought and paid for.” I said, “No it’s not.
It’s
mine. Now please get out.” “No,” he said. “It’s
mine. “Get out or I’ll call the police,” I said.
“Go
ahead,” he said. “Call them and I’ll tell them
you’re
trying to steal my car.” “Are you crazy?” I said.
”You’re the one that’s crazy,” he said.
“I am not,”
I said. “You are too,” he said. “Look,”
I said, “I’m
going to call the cops if you don’t get out.” “Go
ahead,” he said. “And I’ll tell them you’re
trying
to carjack me. And that you exposed yourself to
me.” “I did not,” I said. “You did too.
So what’s the
in the bag” he asked. “None of your business,”
I said. “Now get out of the car. “Pizza, I bet? I hope
you didn’t put onions on it. I hate onions. My wife
likes them,” he said. “Get out of the car. I’m
warning
you,” I said. “I’m warning you,” he said.
“Here. I’ll
hold the pizza if you’re going to sock me,” he said.
”I’m not going to sock you. I just want you to get
out of my car,” I said. “It’s my car,” he
said. “Come
on. Give me the pizza. Hand it over. I’m already late.
The pizza’s getting cold. My is wife waiting. I told her
I’d be right back.” “Look,” I said. “It’s
not your car
or your pizza or your wife.” “No?” he said. “Then
who
do they belong to?” “They belong to me.” I said.
“Check
the registration in the glove compartment. My name is
on it.” He opened the glove compartment and found
the registration. “Nope,” he said. “You’re
not on it.”
”Let me see that,” I said. “Promise you won’t
steal
it,” he said. “Just give it to me,” I said. “Promise,”
he said. “I promise,” I said. He handed the registration
to me. My name wasn’t on it. “See. I told you,”
he said.
“Now give me the pizza. I’m late. And the keys.”
I handed
him everything . “Thanks,” he said. “By the way,
where
do I live? “ I told him my address and he drove away.
But last laugh was on him. I didn’t have a wife
and the pizza was topped with onions.
Submission
Guidelines
A man and three women are standing in line
trying to get inside. Another man engineers
his way up to them, says, “How come
you’re with three women and I’ve got none?”
”I’ll have to consult with my friends,” he says,
seemingly amused. “But if you have to ask
that question, you’ll never grasp it, I assume.”
The other man shoves him hard. “Are you
making fun of me?” he shouts. One of the women
pulls out a knife and stabs him in the side.
He collapses to the sidewalk, blood coming
from his mouth. “Why did you do that to me?”
he asks, as the woman begins to grin. “Because,
he’s not with us. You don’t get it. We’re
with him.”
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