With my new found habit,
the old underwood got out.
A typewritter in French is a she.
She will turn 100 years old next year.
A bit of oil, I fixe her missing feet
by using screws and a bottle cap.
This typewritter used to belong to my
grandfather. He passed away a
few years before my birth.
He was the doctor of the village.
I am sure a lot has been written
on this machine.
During the time I studied theatre
in college, this type writter
was at the center of my creative
process.
Poetry, plays and folies
were typed on it.
A time filled with decadence,
drugs and orgies. It would make
for an interesting story.
