It must be my reward
for getting older

memories no longer burn
like an angry sun
or bite

like a bitter lime

instead
they cascade

through the body
massaging every muscle
so now

when I hear the clack
clack clack
of a typewriter

it's no longer a jack hammer
trying to crack  
my tortoise shell

but a player piano
with spirited
ghostly keys



Whit Howland © 2020