on my grandmother’s old table,
wondering what I can’t anticipate.
My fingers keep trying to feel for a keyboard that isn’t really there
but the image of it responds somewhat as if it is.
I say somewhat because it’s like driving over an icy road
which sometimes turns into a bridge without warning,
sometimes changes in unexpected context.
I eke out a corrected 10 WPM,
giddy as when I first logged onto a BBS.