I was a two-finger typist,
very slow—hunting letters,
pecking like a woodpecker.
Ideas swarmed, begging
to spill onto paper.
But words outran my hunt-and-peck.
So I mastered touch typing—
ten fingers, eyes free.
I drilled until lightning-fast.
Sat to unleash my talent.
The well ran dry.
A speed demon with nothing to say.
