My hands fly across the key board as I search around.
Not for anything in particular, just watching people cross in front of my eyesight.
A girl walking in circles in  a blue fleecy vest, talking on the phone.
I remember my father telling me the importance of leaning to type without having to look at the keyboard.
I thought he was stupid.
I thought it was silly.
I ****** at typing.
I still use three fingers only, mainly.
Pinky for the shift key occasionally.
Right ring finger for the return key.
I don’t even use the thumb for the space bar
Like you’re supposed to-
I use my right pointer finger.
I always had to endure the agony of typing with
The Box
Over my fingers in elementary school.
My best friend can recreate fond memories of a 10-year-old me
Squeezing
My eyeballs shut,
Lining up my fingers, my tongue sticking out,
Only to discover
I had typed everything
Wrong
Start over.
But having entered the college age.
I’m happy to be able to
Glance
Around
While I work.
Makes it seem like some automaton is recording my thoughts, which I don’t even have to think About as I
Consider a flowerpot full of yellow flowers…pansies?
So the poet was right.
He was always looking out windows.
Like all his poems would come streaming through them.
Bits of cloudy thoughts captured on paper, because his
Eyes were free to wander.
Silly poet.
Silly little girl.
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