A friend commented on my paragraph about a microphone (which I appreciate). And so I made some changes to the piece based on his comments. I am wholly detached from the piece now, the broken bits of it I cannot mend, and I am done with it. So we have some modifications, and then there's the rest (of the pages) which remain un-typed (for now).

5 pages about a microphone cord -paragraph 1 (revision 1)

Wooden folded chairs.
now darkened, hand-worn
above the hole
in the backrest.
Well rounded leg bottoms
each chair
with evidence there
of the wet mops
that had slopped against,
and a high water mark
that each of them shared,
some low flood that
they had all withstood.
The four legged chairs
atop vinyl squares.
Gray, white, black specked tiles
vinyl or some other,
layed long ago
with expert precision.
A checkerboard pattern,
edges now curled, corners broken.
All sheen and luster
long lost with time.
Etched dull flat surface now attraction for all manner of dirt and distraction.
Weddings, dances, wakes, all the parties
some seating for mothers
who're now (mostly) Grand
and long passed their 40's.
The aunts, all the elders
with skin spots, and hair nets, the waddle necked bosses.
Proper old blouses been hanging 'side trousers,
for one of those deaths, or events yet to come.
In scurrying flats on in from the car,
clear vinyl bonnets protecting their hair-
their white, and their gray, and their straw colored hair.
Broaches and pins and stories within..
A 1 million things, but for only old women.