Life of a writer on a Friday evening

5 pm in the afternoon and people unwinding
Friends and family calling; it was a Friday evening
The lonely writer sat brooding, copy in hand
There was no escaping this treacherous quicksand

Pronouns, adjectives, British or American?
Tricky apostrophes and commas; will it all be done?
Words much too compound and possessive
Complicated syntaxes and the questions obsessive

Infinitives, articles, predicates and coordinates
Nothing definite about those tiresome indefinites
The evening slipped in between the hyphenations
The writer sighed and longed for an Oracle to catch the omissions

Will the grammar police catch this one?
Don’t be pedantic, that’s fine, said some
Make that your rule and call it your style
Say they’re being picayunish and simply smile

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