Unfitted

I can’t make anything right

I can’t solve the problems of the day 

or keep the cat from hollering at the sun

or stop these errors at work from

winding their unheralded knots 

to catch everyone up 

in those overpowering coils

or prevent the tools in the wood shop

from stabbing and tearing 

I’m just the woman who

pulls out bandages again

and tries to staunch the blood

and tries to keep the red off the floor.

My job is goddess of triage

who makes the first calls

to fix the world as it writhes

in an agony of being 

present in the moment

it may be the last job

of all the jobs that 

I should be seconded to

because I fail and fail

and smart people are supposed

to learn from their mistakes.

But I don’t think I’m learning 

I think I’m down to the 

the piano wire of the garrote 

and that isn’t the best tool

for building and communication 

when you’re trying to figure out 

how to be a team leader.