Echolalia After the Fall

Language tripped on its own tail—  
flung too far from the mouth,  
it landed in the surf  
beside a crab with syntax in its pincers.  

Drôle, she said,  
but no one laughed.  
Not even the emoji blinking  
in low battery sincerity.  

The sandwich was mostly grit,  
seasoned with spell-check and doubt.  
The witch bit in anyway—  
mouth full of prepositions and sandfly vowels.  

Nothing inked.  
Just dust where the dictionary used to be.  

We shouted extinction,  
but the birds kept chirping in hashtags.  

—

A response to Auracle's "BeLanguaged" as I still haven't the privileges to comment on the page. Cheers for that banger of a spark—it had proper teeth! 🦷 🌷