the new machine

you started with a pen,
a loose leaf notebook,
spiral with the blue lined
paper, filling the lines
with teenage angst,
speaking of things you
could only imagine,
then came the typewriter
with its tapping
keys, the clang and pull
of the bell return,
the smudged ink and stuck
letters. the electric
followed that. cartridges
slipped in and out
of the humming machine
plugged in tight to an outlet,
white out nearby for
every mistake along
the way. still you knew
nothing, hardly nothing.
but continued to imagine
what it must be
to live this life. you
imitated the writers
you loved and worshiped,
wondering what to write about,
pretending still to know
more than what you knew.
breathing words and life
into stick figures.
and then one day you knew,
or at least thought you
knew and now you can't stop
your fingers from moving
on this new machine,
this beam of light.