by Ben Nardolilli
I keep the typewriter on the desk
Behind the laptop, in front of the lamp,
It is a bright and light mint green,
The color of soap or toothpaste,
It is a friendly device, one
You can use as a set-piece or ornament
I keep it to remind myself
How blessed I am to be able to write
Without the fear of smudging
Ink all over my creation
Or leaving behind misspelled words
And other linguistic abominations
It also serves remind my laptop
There is another option
If it goes on strike and refuses to load,
The typewrite needs no electricity
And has no chance of growing
Even more obsolete with the passing time
Ben Nardolilli currently lives in New York City. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, The Northampton Review, Local Train Magazine, The Minetta Review, and Yes Poetry. He blogs at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com and is trying to publish a novel.
