The Cannon

it made swift contact,

the little yellow light,

of acknowledgement.

it knew what to do.

and yet, it refused.

quickly, it sent demands,

letting me know of the cartridge,

that must be replaced.

i pleaded, argued ,

that I have no need of color,

that black and white will do.

big mistake, argueing.

lost and defeated I replaced ,

the needless rainbow.

but that did not pay,

that did not absolve.

my insulance was repayed.

she took the entire stack,

all the sheets at once,

jamming them,between the rolers,

gnashing them between the teeth.

she spat the work half done,

then swallowed it again,

to soil the other side.

the rage of her reaction ,

ended cooly,

as she turned the light to red,

a final dismmissal.

I struggled to appease her,

reset the colors,

cleaned the gears,

un-jam the entire tree worth,

that she stubbornly held on.

only after that,

and a final beg for forgivness,

she printed me a single copy,

then ran out of black.