A metal nut has ceased to be tight,
Help me muse with your heavenly might.
Assist me in escaping my noose of sorrow,
Whether it be today, tonight, or tomorrow.
The nut is stubborn, it’s resistant to my tools,
It won’t tighten, not for the strength of a thousand mules.
I desire a wrench of a specific diameter,
I hope I'm not required to write this in iambic pentameter.
I approached the nut for one last try,
But alas loose it remained and I began to cry.
It wouldn't be seduced by my tightening and my pries.
My reservoir of motivation was beginning to run dry
“Please, help an old locksmith”, I exclaimed as I moped,
Screaming on the floor, unable to cope.
But as I was approaching my darkest hour,
A bud of hope started to flower.
From the heavens, a goddess arrived,
In hand, a Craftsman Micro-Clicker Torque Wrench, 3/8" Drive.
I was filled with joy, and sighed with relief.
Mere moments ago I was filled with grief.
I accepted my gift, and the goddess disappeared,
Upon fixing this nut, I would be revered.
But in my moment of triumph, things took a turn for the worse.
My grip loosed, and towards the ground the wrench traversed.
It collided with my foot, and I flailed and cursed.
I could hear the sinews split, and the bone lappings burst.
Around I limped, blinded by pain.
I hit my head on the ceiling, and exclaimed, “Ow, my brain”
Stationary I remained, rubbing my cranium,
My emotions as unstable as decaying uranium.
With a lust for success and a thrust of my will,
I grabbed the wrench from its oppressive pedestal.
With my last bit of strength, I went to my desk
I took a few breaths, knowing it would be grotesque.
Busting out my wrench, I stabbed at the nut,
Instead of thinking with my brain, I was acting on my gut.
In a final burst of primal rage, I gave the nut a final twist.
The nut’s disobedience won’t be missed.
After hours of blood, sweat, and torque,
My job is done, I have done my work.