My Type

Helvetica’s Viking vengeance
pounds rage, warns
despoiler alert,
sorts ill-suited,
sperm-whipped wimps,
Dick pimps,
into type
I like.

Times Roman’s time’s up,
his sagging crown
molding, three-day-old
burned coffee and
three teaspoons of sugar
congealed in a chipped mug
has nothing fresh to say
but what the hell,
at least is true
to type.

Trust me, Didot ain’t it,
linked by sonorific
association to an object – also
not my type. Neither is
a slab-serif screeching
hoary huckster grabbing
space above the fold.

No! Give me
a soft touch. Open Sans
for me, baby.
A daisy scented field
where I read
between the lines,
sans self-editing,
sans erasers,
sans question.
Believe me,
that’s my type.


29 thoughts on “My Type

  1. I prefer typewriter fonts. (per me blog) Bout as close as I get otherwise is Georgia. Which is funny, cause I hated living in Georgia, but Georgia font pleases me.

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      • Yes, I made my choice based on Wikipedia told me. 🙂 I’m working on a book with a chap from the UK – we are filling in the gaps in the timeline of an unscrupulous stockbroker who made his fortune selling shares in phony mines over here in Cobalt. Then he went on home to the UK to become something of a celebrity in aviation. This story will burst a few bubbles, I’m afraid. Thanks for asking.
        And by the way, I did enjoy your poem.

        Liked by 2 people

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