The screws refuse to align again,
and the light switch flickers spitefully,
mocking my grasps for proper touch.
Cords tangle into a monstrous knot
when the ceiling fan won\'t twirl right,
and instructions lie half-unfurled, ignored.
Stubborn recluse, the manual reclines
in some distant drawer, smugly waiting,
patient as a sphinx in a pharaoh\'s tomb.
Each line, a directive clergy of sorts,
offering salvations in crisp diagrams,
translating chaos into understood order.
Such arrogance in my grumbling attempts
to conquer screws, switches by intuition!
A testamentary relic humbles, clearly,
teaching me ritual over reckless endeavor,
its wisdom unchanged by frustration\'s din,
visual oracle midst our technical Babel.
When devices wage war, I now bow,
prayerful, to their papery guardians,
find grace in surrender and follow suit,
embracing humility, guide leading novice,
until the rebellious gears turn peacefully,
machinery, and man finally reconciled.