The Repair Job

A toilet handle needs
replacing, sporting a crack
that will become a
break.
My dark hour of
despair.

What should be short, effortless
minutes will be long, toilsome
hours. Nothing goes as
planned.
Ever.
Handyman-impaired.

Perhaps the store will
not have the part, but
they do. Perhaps the
rapture will come before
I’m home, but
it doesn’t.

Despair. Resigned to
my fate, I
face the offending
part. I read, even,
the instructions.
(It’s that bad.)

I remove the
tank top, apply the
screwdriver, unscrew the
bolt, insert the new
handle, tighten the
bolt.

And it works.
Flushed. Grace.