Tell me a story,
if you can, while avoiding
crimes against syntax.

In the intern’s work
commas cluster on the page,
sprinkled like pepper.

The clock moves so fast
and metro copy so slow.
Time for a smoke break.

Adjectives smother
readers struggling to locate
a lone gasping noun.

Thirty-four inches
on education reform --
caffeine’s not enough.

The bureau’s story
matches its budgeted length.
My eyes fill with tears.

Head specs are too tight.
What is a rim rat to do?
Leave out the vowels.

Project took six months.
The copy desk gets two days.
Spell-check and set it.

This story’s first graph
runs for forty-seven words.
Time to turn the page.

We sit at the desk
making woe and misfortune
fodder for headlines.

Deadline is looming
with seven pages still out.
Proofreading’s a frill.

Proud writer inquires,
Don’t you find this poetic?
Shoot me in the head.

In heaven the staff
will prize copy editors
and know each by name.