Technical Difficulty

He used his hands to show how the gear would turn,

a slow rotation of palms in the dusty light.

I watched the movement, feeling the quiet burn

of knowing exactly why the machine wasn't right.

But I kept my mouth shut and offered a heavy nod,

letting him explain the basics like I was a child.

It’s easier to be a blank slate, slightly flawed,

than to correct a man whose ego is running wild.

The honesty of the metal was plain to see,

a simple fix that I chose to ignore for the sake

of a peace that felt like a slow-moving lie to me,

a weight in my neck that I’m still not sure how to shake.