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The (deliberate) irony of this poem is that I always read it from my iPad.

Eulogy For The Typewriter

Pz-avatarby Tim Hamilton06 Jul 2013

We are torn like a sheet from a roller
The hard slam of metal on paper
exits so quiet, thought of as
missing, presumed replaced by a keyboard
We lack cathartic keybashing
Clockwork all that stands between us and our words

Now we are typeset, fonted, kerned
and laid out on a cold white slab
of liquid crystal before we realise
we've misspelt the first word.

We thought more about our words than this.
The page is further out of reach
The whack whack impact of metal on page.

We used to think more than this
Now there is a white fog
Whose white glare is blinding

Until we are torn,
newborn
like a page from a roller.
That surety is missing, presumed
replaced by a keyboard.