typewriters.
i miss 'em.
i miss how loud they can get
when you whackwhackwhack
at the keys.
they're kind of like...
(shhh!)
i even miss how they jam
when you whack too fast
how the hammers lock up,
lost in the throes of your
(pro) creative activity
(it takes a lot to pry 'em apart)
i like the sprocket-ratchet sound they make
grating teeth, ragged breathing
when i pull on her arm and roll up the next
creamy space to rat-tat-tat-tat-type at.
when you're done banging,
parts of you hurt from so much abuse,
and you know you should feel like an ass
because you didn't quite consider her feelings
but you bask in the afterglow,
maybe take a long drag on your cigarette
contemplating the smells, the fluids you spilled
on so much white, pristine space.
i miss them as much as i miss
(shhhh!)
