Ink Jet Cartridge

I arrived at my sleepy school,
That rests atop a ridge,
To see the works I fear the most,
“Please replace cartridge.”
This is the one in the fax machine,
It’s an ancient one I think,
And to save ourselves some cash,
The cartridges we re-ink.
I assembled my menagerie of tools,
Plastic gloves and syringe,
A supply of ink and sticky tape,
Then I began to cringe.
The ink tipped over on my desk,
Turning all the papers black,
It shot up and painted the ceiling,
Then ran down my back.
The syringe trembled in my grasp,
In my flesh to stick,
I felt just a little bit silly,
I felt a little prick.
I syringed ink into the cartridge,
It flowed rather fast,
And squirted from the cartridge top,
And sprayed someone walking past.
The tape refused to seal the top,
Perpetually coming away,
But it wrapped around my head,
And I have nothing more to say.

I hate changing them, but a new one is $55 and a refill pack is $7. It's worth the ink stains on your hands for 48 hours.