There’s nothing more frustrating than trying to use the wrong tool for a project, knowing it’s the wrong tool, expecting a miracle, and realizing it won’t happen because that’s how things work sometimes. I think we can all see the metaphor I’m trying to get at with this poem, right? Right?


Have you ever tried to drill
a screw through a piece
of metal, but the drill bit
is only capable of spinning
the screw around and round
between your fingers,
while the friction builds–
along with the fear
of an inevitable accident
of unforeseeable proportions
(try and explain that
to the confused nurse wondering
how she hasn’t seen it all:
a drill through the finger)
and the nightmares soon to follow–
and you have to stop
what you’re doing and take
a breath before you puke
from the mental image forming,
or am I the only one?



If you’re interested in submitting your own poetry or work of any other genre, or even no genre at all, as a guest post or submission for the Winter Issue of Come and Go Literary, see my submissions guidelines for more details.

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