Thursday, 14 July 2011

old fingers

you deleted

everything onhis

you told me chattily.

my goodness, you said
he must have found that back-up
button and
never stopped using it

you said.

and your words create
strange hole in my chest.

a picture of my grandfather
old, hunched,
gnarled-tree like his
fingers growing into the computerkeys
as he hits Control S over and over.

I ask, knowing the answer,

if you had saved, any, maybe
or something,
of his backups.

Oh no, you said,
i didn't see anyneed.

and i swallow
hard and quietly
blowing silent
kisses to his old
fingers on the keyboard.

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