The wailing of a xerox machine

The wailing of a Xerox machine.

Like a disfigured , disgruntled statue,
I stand in the stuffy corner of the shop
for business, throbbing business,
as throbbing as the calling birds
in the spiralling yard.
Chirping, calling , in the calm, creative morn.
Xeroxing my poems is my creative
Business for the day.
Many with an air of punch and push,
Sweat and run stand and wait. .
The machine squeaks
A helpless cry:
Gone are those days of drudgery,
hand swollen show after manual copying,
a dexterous hand on my head,
quick press button,
I am expected to multiply,
A mother’s period of expectancy
 nine months; mine less than
Nine seconds.
I breed unwanted, unhealthy too.
I am unable to bear the load,
Crumbled sheets chuckle in the corner.