the white dust

the grammar police
are at your door, knocking
with a nightstick.
they have a list
of grievances.
your apostrophes with
it's, is listed,
misspellings abound.
who and whom are on there
too. your punctuation
is atrocious they say.
you peek out in your
tattered bathrobe,
pleading typos and drinking
for the cause
of them, but they'll have
none of that,
they come in and cuff you.
make you spit out your gum.
they take you down
to the old school house
where they punish you.
you bang erasers all day
against the wall
out by the dumpster,
choking on the white dust
of education.