Shadowboxing with Syntax
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| The Economist |
Shadowboxing with Syntax
I squared up to a sentence tonight—
chin tucked, comma loose in my mouthguard.
Syntax circled, light on its clauses,
jabbing with a subordinate I never saw coming.
I countered with a metaphor—wild swing, too ornate—
and kissed the canvas of my own ambition.
The crowd of blank pages roared (very quietly).
I danced on the balls of my parentheses, ducked under a dangling modifier,
let a semicolon split the round
like a diplomatic handshake between ideas that refuse to share a locker room.
We clinched in the corner—
me whispering, “flow,”
it whispering, “order.”
Its footwork was elegant, ruthless; mine was mostly enthusiasm.
By round three I was shadowboxing myself—
throwing haymakers at echoes, calling it craft.
Syntax leaned on the ropes, patient as gravity.
The bell rang—a period, decisive.
I raised my gloves to the mirror, split lip of hubris,
grinning through the grammar.
Tomorrow, we train again—
lighter on my feet, heavier on the truth.
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This poem's title is the sixth line from one of my earlier poems, that poem was made up of incomplete sentences, that somehow made great titles.
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