The little light a frantic red

The little light, a frantic red,

jumped on the plastic, then just fled.

"Please scan your item," the voice would say,

again, again, in the same way.

I twisted it, then held it flat,

tried every angle, where it sat

on the small glass, beneath the beam,

a silent, frustrating, lonely scream.

The line behind me, growing long,

each sigh a quiet, little song

of judgment, in my burning ear.

The item just remained unclear.

A tiny box, reduced in price,

now seemed a monstrous, heavy vice.

"Please scan your item." I wanted to shout,

"It's broken, can't you figure it out?"

The cold screen stared, no give, no grace.

Just the same red, in the same place.