The Typist
The Typist
Yesterdays ago when spouting words of wisdom,
I managed to raise the vibrations all around me with
linguistic messages, encouraging and motivating,
my wits honoring my readers with insatiable fingers,
I typed my way through many jobs and lovers who
materialized and vaporized just as quickly.
The aging me left captive to my computer,
and the past I created.
Lady Clairol, my only remaining friend,
now my days are filled with managing dentures, arthritis,
weakened knees and memory lapses.
Where are my car keys?
Where are my glasses?
Ah, but the keyboard spurs me on, my heart won’t let me slow down,
saving my thoughts, hopes and dreams to be warmed by coming tomorrows,
when I’m hopefully called a Writer by my peers, and
mom by my kids and theirs will call me great-grandma.
I am the Typist.
