ampersands and tildes

oh ampersands and tildes,
do you feel bitter
and ignored?
do you resent that
fingers don’t lovingly linger
on the typewriter keys
you float on?
tilde: you wave, you piece
of abandoned ocean,
do you hate that there are
no boats to bob on the apex
of your curviness,
trying to reach the
shores of a fictional island?
do you regret
no surrealists are left
to peel you off the keyboard
and sport you
like a misshapen mustache?
& oh ampersand:
are you tired of your
swollen, pregnant belly
resting on your baseline,
never going into labor,
just bringing words together
without recognition & glory?
poor ampersand, your fat belly
doesn’t match your tiny head,
and you have a little tail
that the typographer
should have snipped off at birth.
there is no plastic surgery
to make you trim like
the exclamation mark,
nor can you be revamped to
look ethereal and starry
like the asterisk,
nor can you be reshaped
to look curvy and mysterious
like the question mark.
ampersands and tildes,
i’ve tried so hard but
have no place for you
in my poetry or chitchat.
the brutal truth is
i have no use for you
just occasionally,
and it was only a few
moons ago that i learned
your names.
still, i wish you the best!
and besides,
you’re pretty immortal.
a hundred years from now
i’ll be gone & my loves
and burnt bridges
but you’ll still be here,
doing whatever it is
you do best.