I Don't Have a Brain

Typewriter

I write like a drunk typewriter
My e’s look like f’s
Keys angrily biting thick parchment.
Snap the edges of the paper
right to left
towards the perching red candle.

It never helped that you didn’t use me, you were a lazy teenager.
Writing love letters on rolling papers,
Sitting in cafés just to sit in cafés.

Millenia later you migrated me to the inky basement.
There was only me, my obsolete letters, and the leak your ex-husband never fixed.
I’m a tangible mistake:
The letters you didn't use,
The ink you never smudged,
The faces you'll never forget.