“She carried a suitcase and a grudge.” In this invented sentence, one verb does two kinds of work. The suitcase is a physical burden; the grudge is an emotional one. The sentence joins them without stopping to explain the comparison.
Brigham Young University’s rhetoric reference uses zeugma for a construction in which one governing word serves two or more parts of a sentence. Its separate entry on syllepsis describes the more specific mismatch of senses. Terminology varies between discussions, so noticing what the sentence does is more useful than treating the label as the whole reading.
Why the second object matters
Compare the opening example with “She carried a suitcase and a coat.” The grammar is similar, but both objects are carried in the same ordinary sense. Introducing the grudge shifts the reader from luggage to character. The turn can be witty, bitter, tender or simply economical, depending on its context.
Now try a second invented line: “He lost his ticket and his confidence.” The parallel arrangement links a small practical mishap to an inner change. It might suit a nervous traveller. In a scene of serious distress, however, the same neatness could feel too playful. A device that draws attention to the writer can also pull attention away from the person in the scene.
A short reading experiment
When you encounter a sentence with one verb and two unlike objects, expand it into two sentences. Ask what becomes slower, more explicit or less surprising. Then return to the original and consider why that compression belongs there.
For writing practice, begin with a plain action and a concrete object. Add a second object that uses the same verb differently. Read it aloud, then place it inside a paragraph. If the rest of the paragraph bends awkwardly to display the trick, remove it.
The strongest example need not announce itself. It can briefly make an external action and an internal state occupy the same grammatical space, leaving the reader to feel the connection before naming it.