Inside a closet, going through a stack
of books and many boxes she had bound
with tape, she came upon coats way in back
and knew what underneath them would be found.
The typewriter she’d gotten long ago,
once used by her in college constantly,
forlornly sat, invoking thoughts to flow,
and lifting it, she pressed its letter “T.”
It still got stuck. How some things never change!
That brought her some small comfort, for despite
“improvements“ in the world, she found things strange.
The sticking key made everything seem right.
With that, she put her typewriter away,
its fate again delayed another day.