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Poem

Black ink cartridge dead and empty
Once fed blank paper onion white
It was a canon while it lasted
All good copies come to an end

When it ran dry as printers do
All things die in desert lands
Of thirst and things unsaid
Find a pen that works or pencil full of lead
Were the last words of the computer

At home the pen replaced the printer
Canon products are much too costly
Find something mightier than the sword
Something cheaper for the written word
Pen or graphite for stories be be told

Mine left my pocket for the broken window
Climbed out of it though it was closed
Which was difficult without a single finger
Or toes and everyone knows pens don't have souls

It went five stories up the building wall
Intent on injury, suicide or worse
Jumped off the roof without a warning

Pens become distressed when falling down
Forget to leave a message when desperate
What is a pen without some paper on the desk

The ink bled out upon the pavement
Not red as you might well expect
More like a black and white old movie
It was a mess as you might guess

No inkwells coming to the rescue of the pen
No police around when needed either
Donuts are their friends and must be eaten
With the holes intact upon impact

When pens fall out of pockets off of roofs
Who will write the story five floors down
Of something found but not reported
Or come to some conclusions to that end

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