Friday, September 30, 2016

Elegy for a Drywall Screw

Once upon a late night dreary, though we were feeling weak and weary
We had a quaint and curious notion to improve our second floor -
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of my husband gently snapping, screwing drywall past the bedroom door.
'Tis the last piece, I muttered, snapped behind the bedroom door;
Only this last piece, then nothing more.

Ah, distinctly I remember a chill worse than December
As I heard the muffled shouting and the curses that he swore;
Anxiously I called upstairs - was everything okay up there?
Did something need to be repaired - repaired up on the second floor?
With the very final piece of drywall to install up on the second floor?
Silence there and nothing more.

Presently my man appeared; looking worse than I had feared
"Love," said he, "my darling, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was drilling, and that last piece was so thrilling,
That I put a screw into the drainpipe that runs to the second floor.
We'll have to call the plumber - though our budget will be sore -
We must do this, or nothing more.

Now the drywall, though it's fitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
Unfinished and unmoving in the empty second floor;
And unless the plumber calls to tell us how to save our walls,

By fixing up the punctured drain pipe that we tore
Will we ever finish the walls upon our second floor?
Quoth my nightmares, "Nevermore!"

In the immortal words of the Bard: oops.

The closest thing we have to a raven.

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