Litkicks Message Board Archive

An Apology to a Typewriter

Posted to Poetry




It’s been so long since I’ve typed
on my writer, the shift
key gets stuck and all the rhythm
kept on it doesn’t feel loose. It’s gelled, the
keys don’t respond. The same roaring
sound of mad dancing feet on a brick
or tile floor is replaced
with a dragging dull
drawl in a lower
octave.

Things had to be made, the right studious
amount of time
in front of cultural
textbooks written by uncommon
named authors, like Jochim. The exact
right words had to be said
and memorized in the whirling
maze of the Chinese language
and its many translation types.
I had to straighten out my thoughts
about girls
and their subterfuges,
guile and grace. I had to reexamine
the meaning of holding
hands with someone on a long
drive through the country
farms, and the implications
of such.
While you were here
starting to become sticky, like syrup
had invested itself to your inner, old, 40’s
made mechanical
insides and actual
hardware.

And now your grey
body is infected with cobwebs
and machine
arthritis.