On Reconsidering My Typewriter

Typewriter of Hemmingway, my wife’s gift,
Wrapped, serviced, set upon a writing table
Early on my rainy June, branches shift,
And soon, unsure fingers strike in able
In precision (and my latest fable).
Click! Clack! Pressure mounts each choice, each bite,
Of the page commits to verse twist and sight,
Imagery ingrained, no Ctrl Z
(or revelry) when sweating at your desk:
Pamplona Yank (how at ease…) did it best.