2%
two percent,
the sharp line of red
a slash of blood in the corner
of the laptop screen
i’m racing time and technology
trying to pen a poem before
blackness
before my typing is no more than
a baby pressing buttons on dad’s old phone

it’s still at two percent
did past writers feel the same
as the ink in their pens started to run out
as the solid lines turned to trickled slashes
like the slash of red in the corner

1%
the alert jumps out at me
a jack-in-the-box, expected but startling
the low battery alert
i keep typing, clinging to
some desperation of the mind
some battle against all odds, like
a gladiator against a lion in the ring
only instead of claws and teeth,
it’s batteries and ink

0%
i didn’t even know this was a possibility
to run on nothing but still run
perhaps my willpower,
my fingers pressed into the keys
give some electric courage
but my pen still running out of ink
i can’t waste a second
can’t make a blot somewhere
can’t discount the clock, because
the second hand is my competitor
i will beat the lion that is time
that is the clock
that i