Clackity*Clack

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He gave me a typewriter

With clackity*clack keys

And a chime that rings

When I’ve gone too far

And need to

Return.

 

This sort of typing

Feels more like writing

Fingers flexed

Ink on the page

Uneven, imperfect

And glorious.

 

Strike the keys

Stamp each stroke

Hard or soft

It’s up to you

The writer, the typist.

 

He gave me a typewriter

With ribbons blackened

And linkages yellowed–

All things considered…

I suppose he really is a

Decent sort of fellow.

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