Underwood Champion

I got it

Hello! First post of my re-imaged substack.
I wrote a thing on my new typewriter!
whadayathink?

luv,

m

Underwood Champion

I got this.

I got this.

I got this typewriter.
I got this typewriter for my birthday.

It's older than I am,
by a lot.

Oh wait.

It's only

It's only 26 years older than I am.

I'm old enough to know that 26 years
is a blink, an eyelash, a breath

But 1949 was never only 26 years ago.
1949 has always been history,
black & white times neatly arranged,
antecedents explained, subsequents understood.

In those days, there wasn't a Number One.
No, the lowercase L had to step up, help out.
And it did.

And if the words had a feeling?
If they wanted to exclaim a thing?
It would have to be a cobbled
apostrophe ('),
a silent backspace ( ), &
finally a period (.) !

(Not like today’s kids and their
willy-nilly marks, emoting their
hellos, their yesses, their byes.)
(What if I’m just a kid?)

They were sensible & serious, all:
”Hello.” “Yes.” “Goodbye.”

This machine was there
unspooling ink ribbon
a record of impressions
black & white memories
ensuring protection and never agains,
permanent lessons learned.

Closed the book.

Words pressed a fixed world into place,
painting a picture of decency
on the right side of virtue,
steady progress of blank paper
filled with capitals, gained freedom,
they said everybody prospered.

Shelved the book.

Decades of stories
Retellings
Imaginings
and here we are.

Locked the book.

Line by line,
backwards X’ing out
what really happened
what was broken
who did what.

I got this.

I got this machine.

I want it to tell me
where it’s been.

I want it to tell me
where I’m going.