A dogmatic grammarian, a know-all, with a frog’s face, croaks from a well. He glowers at error-insects with his bulging eyes. Children gape with their tongues stuck in rules. Expressions hobble. Emotions are mangled. There’s a relief in yawning. Ma, grandma, pa and grandpa never learned grammar, yet their dreams, doldrums, squabbles, calumnies, ecstasies, and all other throbs of life, sounded through their language without inhibition. This is the first poem in issue #17 of The Literary Hatchet.