Learning to touch-type

 Learning to touch-type

Closing eyes, I typed blind
making up jingles, whatever came
to my eleven-year-old mind
like one about a cocker spaniel 
    Who knows
    but the nose?
or one about my crush, neighbor Elaine
    Eyes of amber
    change your timbre
which I thought were brilliant.

The old Underwood I called Miss Understood.
In a cranky mood her legs stuck together,
her tongue would jam. But touch her kindly
and  her lips would clack clack clack,
her little bell would ring
and I would slam the carriage return.

I miss her physicality.
I could literally write up a sweat
as she taught poetry in her machine gun voice:
    Make each word strike solid.
    End with a period that punches a hole,
    clear through, to the light on the other side.

……

First published in Pulsebeat Poetry Journal—thank you editor David Stephenson
photo by Johanna Nikolaus on Pixabay