Shoot it if it rhymes

Attic

An old 'Brother' typewriter,
with the space key missing.
A snuff-box full of dust
and cockroach-wing flakes.
A half-decayed pack of Passing Show cigarettes,
its damp, moth-eaten mascot
with its smile intact.

An old gale, trapped
in an ink bottle, scrapes the blue scales
one last time.
Its identity is remembered.
A silverfish peeks from page 97,
browned and dog-eared,
from Chekov.
It leaves a keyhole-shaped cavity
on the pastoral Russian landscape.

Two fingertips, one brown and one fair,

share a millimeter of electricity.

From a distant childhood, two mothers call:
"What are you two doing up there?".