In junior high,
I took typing class.
Each day loading a single sheet of white paper
by turning the knob to secure the page
around the cylinder,
until before me sat
a clean slate, a crisp page.
Mastering the keyboard
took time,
an illogical arrangement of letters
causing keys to hammer
ink upon the leaf.
Ever competitive,
I mastered the keys,
hands flying,
words forming like magic.
For my son’s 21st birthday,
we gave him a carefully restored
Royal typewriter,
built before I was born,
He gingerly scrolled the paper,
struck a few keys and marveled
at the clacking sound,
the ding at line’s end.
How ancient the typewriter appeared.
Fingers flying over his phone’s keyboard,
my son sent a thank you text,
along with a photo
of the poem he typed
on creamy white paper.
A Reading Life 
you do what Billy Collins dos at the end of his poems here. All about that machine, described with all the details and perfect word choice. Then the final stanza – shifts. A shift to a different character, a current time period using current tech. And leaving your reader pausing even more to ponder a deeper meaning. Keep writing, Beth!! I love your poetry!
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last comment was by Sally!!
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What a thoughtful gift (hard to find?), and such a wonderful way to say Thank You from your son. This brought back old memories for me, for sure! A lovely post!
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