In Praise of Technology

This poet's brain
was cursed by
forever neurologically slowed
typing fingers. Digits never meant to
keep pace with quicker than average mind.

I dealt.
I hired other people
to supply surrogate, fast fingers.

First for $7.50, followed by $9.50, followed by $10.12,
and, lastly, the somewhat princely sum of $12.48.
The state brought me scribes
with the same pile of money
that it paid people to clean my bottom,
only it wasn't always aware of the transactions.

I did what I must
to be myself, follow my muse,
obey my own soul's song.
And I don't regret that choice
for even a moment.

One must seek freedom
however one can, with whatever one can.

On Friday
via UPS for just under $50,
came a miracle to my house.

Program frees me
the type at 2 AM
if the muse finds it amusing.

It learns my voice,
twisted though my words sound to most,
and saves my fingers,
which I had feared soon destined
for the surgeon's knife.

So pardon the poet
if she is momentarily giddy
at latest incarnation of strange –
often denied – word, "freedom."