It seems almost unfair
to write a poem about typewriters.
Maybe there should be a moratorium,
but before it starts:
I’ve noticed
a curious thing
about my typewriters
and my memory:
though I typed
papers and poems and stories
for at least three decades,
I can’t picture
myself doing it,
not even once.
The little portable
dad kept in his office,
the family’s noisy Smith-Corona,
and the enormous electric gizmo
I bought at an office sale,
They’ve all been relegated
to some interior warehouse
whose keys have gotten lost.
Max Reif
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/008june2-07-the-silence-of-the-typewriters/
