when i was taking care of mr. field,

doing the light chores,

keeping him alive with my plain

cooking and housekeeping,

i told him about helen keller and how she was blind all the way

and how i wrote her a letter.

and he showed me a

remington portable typewriter,

almost new.

you have any use for that? he asked.

for your letter writing and all?

no sir, i said.

i would have liked a machine like that to write on.

but if i went carrying a big old

typewriter home from

dickenson street

all the way to

mather road,

constable johnson,

he’d get ten calls before i got halfway to the covered bridge,

telling him how the colored girl

stole some

expensive machinery.

not worth the trouble.