I didn’t start out writing poetry, I came to it by accident when my typewriter (remember those?) the “n” snapped off while I was working on a short story. Want to know what letter is the one you can’t do without? Have it vanish. Because my handwriting is . . . ah . . . unreadable I was stuck . . . until it hit me that I could write poetry. And have one published the first time I sent it out. I has my typewriter to thank for that. When the repair guy told me it would be about a month before he could get to it, I told him it was not a problem.
Poem in Gratitude to my Typewriter
Well. . .you know, you funky old machine,
if your N hadn’t broken off,
I probably never would have
started writing poetry.
You know damned well I can’t write more
than a page or two without your help,
so what else was I to do?
Now I go around spitting images from
between my teeth like melon seeds
and calling the results poems.
If your N hadn’t broken off, I’d have
continued writing my book, and all these
poets would’ve been spared seeing
me come along dressed like a thug
with a sack full of four-legged words
pissing on every lamp-post and shrub
and daring to call myself