MJ blathers

dark poet who loves to laugh


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grandpap Page’s print shop

1920’s and decades beyond
on Pittsburgh’s south side
in the back room
huge presses
tilted surfaces
slathered in thick ink
too dangerous for
a little girl
so in the front room
where sunlight streamed
in the glass door
i crouched, eyes wide
peering as Tom White
(he wasn’t any longer
even in the cracks and
folds of his skin
after years of type-setting)
fingered letter by
individual letter
tiny bits onto wooden racks
into words, phrases
sentences, paragraphs
that people could
actually read!

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