Elia Michael


A Telegraphist


My fingers are painfully stiff
I wonder if it was the job,
I typed day and night and what if
That is why my fingers throb?

I was then a telegraphist.
Spellchecker doesn’t like this word,
It must think they do not exist -
A telegraphist – that’s absurd!

But I certainly existed.
I had to transmit and receive
Messages which consisted
Of sad news causing one to grieve.

But they were more often cheerful,
For birthdays weddings and such like.
Sometimes the words were beautiful,
Still my fingers had keys to strike.

Submitted: Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Edited: Thursday, March 20, 2014

Topic of this poem: job


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