I lived with a woman who loved ice cream,
shared a single bare mattress with her every night.
I owned a candy-pink Royal typewriter that cost eight dollars;
I sat on the floor & typed, sticky keys on brown paper.
In late summer, I picked warm blackberries in the alley
and walked the aisles of Safeway with stained fingers & mouth.
We never had money, but we always had wine. I scalded
and peeled fresh tomatoes to make her homemade marinara.
She moved out in September.
that should make up for my procrastination on April 1. LOL. it's not very good, but i have wanted to put that typewriter in a poem for a while--i loved it. i can't believe i left it behind when i moved away. i wish i had it now. note, i'm not as concerned about my friend Holly.