My printer has divorced
my computer.
There was a little ceremony
last week after midnight.
Some clicking and a whine of separation.

Now my printer prints randomly,
wakes me from slumber
with industrious humming
and rattle of snatched paper.
Here come some Venn diagrams
and a page of Portuguese.

Of course I could unplug it
or even take a hammer to it
but I like the messages.

It invites me to random events,
emits puppies and kittens,
warns me about exotic diseases.
I’m hoping it will finish up the poems
I abandoned years ago
for lack of interest.

Cut off from its source and reason
I thought it would surely die,
yet I keep watching it from the margin
of my vision eagerly, expectantly.

Š by Janet McCann.
Used with the author’s permission.