Bloody Frustration

Touching the black and white wires sparks and arcs and crosses currents and melts, burns, rends the segregated halves of the system. Dazed-in shock-I reel from the eye-blinding burst on contact and stagger over to the toolbox. I reach for the metal, long and kinda skinny, flattened phillips head with a rachet and drill bit that has the bubble in the magnetic extension ruler...the non-existent instrument that will fix my fused, reversed current, deflated, empty and dried, dead, broken life. My collection of hand tools, accumulated from my years and lessons and experiences, lacks the special implement needed to restore and repair this wasting heap that I work on daily. I wipe my hands on a dirty rag, swig on my flat can of beer, puff off my nub cigarette, and swear under my breath at the time I've wasted on this dead-end project.