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a typewriter to rest easier
by Bob ArcaniaI want a typewriter as big as the welt on my back
that I can carry in my silent arms to everyday class.
Let it whistle every vowel onto starry white papers,
each slightly crinkled to better echo my voice.
I want a typewriter to sit vast oceans on my dresser
typing nothing but whatnever a finger says to it.
Let it crack every consonant with thunderous charm
into the bleak skin of what is on hand to feed it.
I want a typewriter as deep blue as my morning afters
with the sort of names I have more trouble remembering.
Can it settle with a groan the black ink of my spit
as I use it to forget the pasts my childhood thought up?
It will rest an antique on an old maids shelf and grow grey
like her savaged dogs last dying breath.
I want a typewriter to say better
the lacking and ravaging of an almost but not quite !
goodnight 04/02/2007 Author's Note: I really do want a typewriter, then I'll keep my roommates up all night.
Posted on 04/02/2007
Copyright © 2024 Bob Arcania
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 04/03/07 at 04:10 AM I remember the clackity-clack of typing class - I loved that thing! Almost like the music of a drum. Stanza four is my favorite!! This computer screen may be a mean efficient machine, but the typewriter and paper and whole process of writing seems more organic somehow, smearing from time to time, keys clogging up, ink on fingers, changing ribbons. I wouldn't go back, but there is a nostalgia of being the real deal. |
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