Quick Fix
The whirring machinations clicking together
Metal gears grinding each other down
Shavings gathering, sparks showering below
Axles holding them in place are wobbling uncontrollably
Workers had no fucking clue
Supervisors screaming orders
Hold the fucking thing in place, then
Jam that Goddamn thing back on
A few bolts have ricocheted off,
Some of those flying fast like a bullet
Probably fast enough to kill somebody
Right on the temple, it could
Oil leaking and spilling all over peoples eyes
Dark blotches on their jumpsuits darker than the ones made by their sweat
Still it was as if there was a high pressure leak
Sparks shooting out like a hole on a live fire hose
Floors were slippery
Workers drenched in their own fate
Chunks of metal
Fire
Loud noises
Smoke
Did not stop the sparks or the wild axles, and the gears were still unaligned
Supervisors and workers still screaming
Men getting stepped on
A guy laying on the floor with something shiny lodged in his face
Crying
Hand holding
Nobody could hear anybody crying though
Noise was too loud
Machines were making it too bright
Nobody could see past the person whose hand they held
Too crowded, sticky, good luck breathing
Who the fuck wanted to fix this again?
Why the fuck did they put the screwdriver in there?
Why couldn’t we just let the fucker rest in peace?
