The Typewriter

Oh how well I do remember Dear Miss McConnell’s typing class. Fumbling fingers seeking home keys, And so afraid I wouldn’t pass. The quick brown fox jumps over the….. I was assigned that exercise. No lettering on the keypads, My fingers had no help from eyes. Dropping out was not an option, In Miss McConnell’s typing class, For she tolerated failure About as well as she did sass. So with real determination, I had achieved to some degree Enough success for Miss McConnell To give a passing grade to me. These were manual typewriters A secretary’s tool for years. There was no way to fix our errors Than with whiteout and messy smears. My expertise on the typewriter, Won me a job and first pay check. I was so happy Miss McConnell Had saved me from the hunt and peck. I was wary of electrics. I didn’t like them very much. They would stammer and keep typing When they felt my heavy touch. But of course one can't stop progress, And my manual was replaced. But not until today's great wonders Could errors simply be erased. Written April 16, 2013 for contest "The Typewriter"