If I could line letters up
like soldiers, the way they
are assembled in my Olivetti
typewriter with white shiny

cadet hats I would. If I could
neaten the process of writing,
make it precise, orderly,
ceremonial I would. Silver

rungs rise up, salute
each letter as they
march onto the page. If
I could make my writing

not skip a beat and turn
back to form a new line
of thought at the sound
of a bell while I throw

the carrier back. A private
switching her gun from
her left to right shoulder,
I would, if I could.