Home Poetry Crouched Over a Typewriter

Crouched Over a Typewriter

by Stephanie Alfaia

Maybe I am going crazy
But these poems are drowning
The top of my head,
Flooding my fingertips every night
When I sit in front of
With my overfilled glass of red
And this dated Mercury –
Whose ribbon I must replace.
The poems flare.
They jump out onto the keys
While I do nothing but
Press down,
My lips curling into
What seems like a smile…
Madness in full throttle.

I hear her whisper again.
Open your window…
She is irritating me.
It took me a long time to find
The most entertaining person to drink with:


© Magnified Reflections 2013
all rights reserved

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