Qwerty

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For Eileen Dowling late of Brennan Insurance

 

 

The typing pool is empty

We have lost forever the rattle and smack of a hundred Underwoods

Their red and black ribbons will spool no more

Backwards and forwards squeezed like the bagpipes until they are ink-dry

Dear Sir, I beg to refer to yours of the fifth inst. is my reply

 

 

She cycled to work along the river bank and cobbled lane

Chained it to a railing out the back and cycled home again

Felt on her way for all her time imprisoned there

Free as a flying bird upon the summer air

 

 

Gone, gone wherever good things go

Vanished from the earth in August like a winter snow

The clacking lines are silenced we are changing fast   

The wrecking ball is crumbling what we thought would last