The Comma is a Green Monster, and I Love It

by Roger B. Rueda

If the comma were a color, Peter Solis Nery bets it would be green. What a lovely thought. Green is growth, vitality, life! But let's not be deceived. If the comma were a living thing, it would be a shape-shifting beast—one that nurtures, confuses, saves, and sometimes, mercilessly slaughters meaning.

The comma is the grammar world’s necessary evil. It is the traffic light of language, dictating when ideas must halt, hesitate, or proceed with caution. It can turn a harmless sentence into an outrageous scandal. Case in point: "Let's eat, Grandma!" versus "Let's eat Grandma!" One little squiggle stands between a family dinner and a cannibalistic crime scene.

Now, if Peter Solis Nery paints the comma as green, I say it’s the sneaky kind of green—the jungle foliage under which a tiger waits to pounce. It's the financial green that decides whether a legal contract holds or folds. It’s the treacherous green of envy, when one writer nails a sentence while another drowns in a sea of run-ons.

To be fair, Nery's vision of the comma is more generous. He sees it as the emblem of expansion, like rolling hills and the Sierra Madre mountain range. Quite poetic! But I say the comma is also a bureaucrat, making us wade through its labyrinthine rules. Oxford or no Oxford? Before “and” or after? Use it too much, and you’re an overzealous Victorian. Use it too little, and you’re a reckless anarchist.

Ah, the comma—both a scoundrel and a savior! Like a seasoned politician, it deceives when mishandled but restores order when placed with precision. Like a cunning lawyer, it can twist meanings or deliver clarity with a flick of its tail. And like a poet worth their salt, it makes words waltz, tango, or drop to their knees in dramatic pause. One misplaced comma can topple governments, rewrite scripture, or turn a passionate love letter into a legal notice. So use it wisely—lest you find yourself in grammatical purgatory! It is the ultimate power trip in punctuation—small but mighty, subtle but seismic.

So yes, let’s call the comma green. Green like the money spent on legal disputes over misplaced commas. Green like the envy of those who can’t master its use. Green like the monster it becomes when it refuses to behave.

And for that, dear comma, I salute you.

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If the Comma Were a Color

a poem for children by Peter Solis Nery

 

If the comma were a color,

I bet it would be green

Like growing grass,

Or sprouting leaves,

Or rolling hills,

Or the Sierra Madre Mountain range,

Because commas

Make sentences grow,

And grow,

And grow