Mechanical Advantage

The white plastic washer is snapped in two

on the laminate counter, right where I left it

to prove a point. I showed him it was the screw

and the way his heavy wrenching had cleft it.

Now the victory feels like a cold, empty room.

The faucet still has that slow, rhythmic beat,

tapping the stainless steel in the gloom,

while he stays in the back, admitting defeat.

I sit here alone with the fact I was right,

and the silence is heavier than the sound of the leak.

I won the whole thing in the middle of the night,

but I’m the one feeling exhausted and weak.