More Commas

My book writing is like lifting weights,

I pick it up, I put it down

So now that I think I’m done with a tribute

To important men in my life

I’ve sent the rough copy out for reading

My grandmother, all ninety-four years,

Took on the challenge

Of making sense of poetry

That in real life she was intimately involved with

As the wife of a major figure in the book,

I worried that she might find fault

With my interpretation of my grandfather’s life

She didn’t,

But, she did say, “I didn’t see many commas.”

Beautiful. Her directness delivered

With the same punch as a forgotten thank you

Or a less than gentle reproach for not stopping by

On a quick visit to town

I assured her that my lack of comma usage

Was poetic license

Secretly, I wonder if commas are that important

In the current evolution of writing

Anyway…

We talked for awhile, she shared subtle

Little nuggets of her writing expertise  

Plucked from her lifetime of Erma Bombeck styled stories

Most importantly, though,

She wants me to start using more commas

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