Ode to a White Apple MacBook

They don’t make ’em like they used to.

Don’t show Jony Ive; his head might explode.

Sometimes I feel like apologizing for the narrow crack that runs along the keyboard of my white MacBook, like a fissure of black water opening in an endless expanse of arctic ice. And then I remember the circumstances under which the plastic cracked — a hard jostle on the Pan-American Highway, just outside of Managua, to avoid a brightly painted…