Typewriter

My ancient Underwood typewriter, dusty, boxy, charmingly obsolete Missing p, x and m - still, imperfectly complete Kept for its craftsmanship and for nostalgic retreat I wrote my novel (unpublished, unshown) at sixteen Upon this unwieldy, cranky, clunky, behemoth beige machine No complaints on the convenience of the screen But millennials will never know what it means Feeling the tingling rush that vibrates and sings The music of the keys striking the paper Lifting your muse, and words, like a skyscraper. 7/10/18