Typing was not my strength, it was my shame.
Typing is a skill to make words legible, not for me.
Letters were rarely in the right order, what a shame.
Things change, typed word can create order.
Secretarial work was not my thing.
Typing purchasing orders all day was not for me.
One typo, the order goes in File 13, to erase my error.
At the end of the day my wastebasket was piled high.
I typed a purchasing order and things changed.
It was for 50 tapes, my fingers flew to my shame.
My boss called me in his office, asked to read
I ordered 50 rapes, you read it right rapes.
He laughed, showed me a pencil and asked.
Do you see what is at the end? Yes, an eraser.
Learn to use it, use it to erase and correct your mistake
Do not throw away your experience.
He added: in 5 years your mistake is forgotten
In 10 years few will remember your mistake or name.
In 100 years from now no one will know who you are.
I wish to be remembered as a woman activist poet.
I no longer use File 13 to delete a shame.
You see, I write and type about the shame of ****.
The shame every woman who is violated feels.
It a shame but not her shame, file and record his shame.
This is a true story, my boss was a wonderful man, with a sense of humor. Mornings he would make his own coffee and he would also make one for me. He believed in women and their rights, we had interesting conversations about women and how they were leaders and could make a difference. He made sure I got promoted to junior purchasing agent, he saw potential in me, but not as a typist. This poem is dedicated to him, Mr Creswell. Most of the poems I shared on this site will be part of a book about women all women and some good men.