152/365: Editing Is Love

weirdly worded fire notice

In the middle of the night,
I hatch plans.
I will teach everyone how to edit
and say what they mean,
and I will hand out dictionaries
like those red copies of the New Testament
that the Gideons used to hand out
during school assemblies.
I will have t-shirts made that say
Editing Is Love.
I will become the Mother Teresa*
of ideas left to starve in sentences
with poor grammar and comma droughts.
I will sing it,
and you will learn with the devotion of a novice
the ways of the apostrophe.
In the middle of the night,
I can dream I am a demi-god, a saviour,
who commits no semicolonic sin.

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* When originally published, this read "Theresa" with an H, which makes this entire poem even more ridiculous. Face, palm.

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