Big Tool
Oh the frustration of the big tool.
To have, or to have not a big tool,
to be equipped to deal with the big
tool, to become a big tool when dealing
with it in a big toolish way,
like having a big St. Bernard
in a tiny apartment, or luxurious
hair at the supermarket, either way
how problematic the big tool can be
if one does not know how to position
the big tool so that it does not become
a big inconvenience, a crowbar
when a drill is necessary, a wall anchor
when a claw would do. To exploit
the big tool is to give thanks to big G
and it is probably what he had in mind
when he gave the Apostles (and Pentecostals)
the power to speak in tongues, or made Jesus
an uncanny bartender at Cana. So I cross myself
and point heavenward, K-Rod-like,
when I remember to take out the garbage
or avoid a late fee, because clearly I’ve been missing the big tool
for far too long, or, perhaps missed it altogether
and fear that life is just a series of regretful sighs
in one long lonesome moment of years
in which your big tool becomes circumscribed
by distractions, or lost, like opening
the take-out bag and seeing that the special sauce
has been omitted, which renders the entire order
tasteless, useless, an extravagant waste.
— Allison Contey (2008)