The Gritty Facts
There are vague memories
some fond some not
so. Much has changed.
The delete key absolves
a multitude of sins and wasted
paper. I don't miss
purple hands from carbon paper
if you know what I mean.
My youngest daughter doesn't.
When you were wired (old use of the word)
your hands would light up the keyboard.
The sound had its own poetry.
When you were stumped
the silence was killing.
No music to stream in
the background and shores to surf
at your fingertips. Your world cloistered
It was hard work. Dirty work.
Michael A. Wells
Magpie
6 comments:
As soon as you mentioned the sound, I began to hear it in counterpoint to your poem, that victory of hitting returns. Sweet pair of double-(or more)-meaning hanging endings. Am realizing as I type how effortlessly I am deleting. Your Magpie does seep under one's skin.
that sound had its own poetry...true that...nice look back in this.....
Poetic sounds. Wonderful!
Beautiful. I do love the delete key...
Good stuff! Terse. No wasted words. Except - could you perhaps dispense with the phrase in parenthesis? I think most readers would still take your meaning.
Thanks All! Doc I'll have to think about that.
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