Depunctuation

or,

Dont Lets Be Thinkin This Isnt for Peoples Own Good

A dramatic confrontation’s taking place in London’s streets
Led by terrorists pretending they’re grammatical elites:
They sneak around in dark of night with paintbrushes and white-out,
Find a sign with an apostrophe, and—voila!—white it right out.
They seem to like contracting all contractions in the world
And changing each poss-“’s”-ive so its root word ends up pluraled;
Theyre wont to cant they dont abide contractions – and they aint –
But keep proudly slopping on their white, obliterating paint.

Yes, a confrontation’s taking place on every London road
Led by terrorists abiding by a lesser grammar code;
Now all the Brits in Britain are grammatically perplexed:
“If we let them take apostrophes, our commas will be next!”
But it’s all for your own good, they’re told, for last year (to our shame)
A person died who lived on an apostrophe’d street name,
Cuz the ambulance’s routing failed to take it there directly
When its GPS refused to read apostrophes correctly.

But don’t you fear: guerrillas in this punctuation war
Aren’t takin’ all this sittin’ down; they don’t want any more.
No, don’t you worry: gangs of more puncnacious punks have taken
The matter into their own hands, so soon when people waken
To face the day and get back to their dreary daily grinds,
They’ll see their precious punctuation back upon their signs –
Yes, they’ll see all their familiar punctuated signage back,
The result of other unseen midnight hands...whose paint is black.

                                                            —Anon Apostrophe’d Mouse