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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

A Typewriter's Tale

One hundred years old
All it would type at first was rust
Brown colored letters
That expressed a lifetime of neglect
First in an office typing pool
Located on the tenth floor of the Empire State Building
Where a different person every day laid their unique fingers upon it
Stroking and hammering
Clacking and pressing
Sometimes too fast
And tangling the arms in a sudden jarring jam
Sounding like a small matchbox filled with clock gears being shaken
To be carefully pulled apart
Transferring some ink onto fingers every time
With a different accompanying curse to match the mark
Who says ladies didn't swear?

Now the rust is mostly worn away
But dirt still covers the nooks and crannies 
Blurring the letters as they are struck
Marking out a sad mud covered tale
As it tells of transitioning to government service
Being dragged through wet trenches
Tapping out orders and dispatches
The center of a mobile command bunker
Surrounded by croissants and cigarette smoke
Ashes lubricating the mechanism
Both from tobacco and the soldiers
Remains floated upon the winds

Dirt falling away revealing a coating of oil
As a story of storage is the game of the day
Wiped down and spritzed with preservative
Packed carefully in a crate with others just like it
Typewriters all
Marked as fragile then thrown around with abandon
Chassis cracking on the side
Stored upside down in an endless government warehouse
Just around the corner from the golden ark
Forgotten and timeless
Until yet another cold war had ended

Finally flowing with ink
The letters mark clear and concise
The result of being taken into the light
Unpacked with care
A metal strap binding the crack
With four shiny brass screws
Trucked to the flea market 
Inserted into the "Typewriter World!!" tent
In location 5F

There I found it 
Paying in cash I took it home
I asked it to tell me a story
So that's what it did