Typing Exam

The teacher turns off the lights and
Starts talking.
She says, Type what I say.
Darkness conceals the keys and
Mutes the sound of manual typewriters being struck
And the occasional humming of a Selectric,
Typeball clicking.
Cheating is impossible.
We knew this was coming.
The U above the J.
The C down and left under the F.
Slow down.
Think this through.
Picture the keys in your mind.
But the teacher talks fast.
She says, The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog, and
Pack my box with five dozen liquor jugs,
Which makes us laugh.
If typing in blinding black is a high school ritual,
Then why do I still feel so alone
In crowded rooms,
And at every turn of the day?
Night obscures the unknown
And enriches it with longing.

© Poem Fix 2012
 Photo by Etan J. Tal

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