IN MEMORY OF MY MUCH RESPECTED, ELECTRIC (PRE-ELECTRIC) OLIVETTI-LEXICON TYPEWRITTER
they told me, O. Lexicon, that you had typed your last.
They said you had no future now - you only had a past.
They said ‘Two hundred pounds, please’ just to send you back alive
I wept as I remembered that you cost me twenty five.
Oh! the crashing of your carriage shunting left to re-position,
And your motor busy-buzzing while I groped for composition
And the chattering of your keys printing words too often flawed where
the hell’s the rubber-outer - look ! still hanging by its cord.
The years have rolled, the wind of change has gusted through the land
Amstrad, Canon, Brother, Sharp - not one bought second hand.
Friend of my first creative days, you served me well and true
When I light my candles, Lexicon, there’ll be one there for you.
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