After Rejection

I stopped at a yard sale.

The woman nodded hi.

There were many odd items –

matted hair from the heads of madmen,

baby clothes that had been worn

by a miniature pinscher,

a jar of eyeball jelly.

I asked about the typewriter.

She said it had spent

its whole life up to now

in a dark basement.

And as she spoke,

she randomly pressed the keys

as if for luck.

 

 

 

 

Howie
Good