not the modern kind
but vintage, an antique
model with a black frame
and just the right
amount of rust (some
might say “patina”) made
by underwood.
each key punch sends
a lettered arm flying upwards
to slap against the drum
with a satisfying thud
(though the “g”
still feels a bit sticky
even after liberal
amounts of wd-40).
now a showpiece,
i imagine the woman
who could type sixty words
a minute on this machine
as her boss droned on
mechanically. (sadly,
by “boss” i meant
“man” and by “woman”
i meant “secretary”)
because that’s how roles
used to play back in the day
when conformity was pre-
ordained and people
only expected to know
their “place.”
(for eleanor roosevelt)
