The Remington

The Typewriter at the Flea Market

She sat upon her elegant velour case
the zipper was open so we could
see the forest green interior and
marvel at how well cared for
she was. A baby blue Remington.
How many tales has she told,
from Hanoi, Paris and Vienna, traveling with the
New York Times correspondent,
or perhaps writing romance novels,
her mistress gazing over a moonlit
ocean. Today, I look at her, the neat
little green case and baby blue
exterior and wish that I was not tempted
away by the keypad of my laptop, where
misspellings are so quickly corrected,
and words are so easily erased.