Another from my series of Shel-Silverstein-type poems for adults. Here’s the text so you can search for it later if you like:
A MESSAGE FROM THE PRINTER
I, the office printer, broke.
(No, it’s not some twisted joke.)
They’ve just called a printer whiz
And till I’m fixed, don’t wonder, “Is
The toner low? Did paper jam it?”
No one knows—and every “Dammit!”
Every “No! Not now! I’m dying!”
All your begging, all your crying,
All your poking, all your thumping,
Tearing-out of hair and jumping,
Every amateur deduction,
Every threat of self-destruction,
Will not fix me any faster.
Just admit it: I’m your master.