Entropy

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Rusty, conniving Wrench
Twisting springs until sprung.
Smiling.
All the while
Twisting bolts,
sending pieces plinking
off trappings
of human life.
Partially completed work
On a 26 year old machine
does not slow
underhanded work
on a five year old machine.
The Lonely, Bitter wrench
shuts down its iron dreams
And tosses herself headlong
into essential functions,
Irregardless to what this action
Could cause to production.
Fragile, trusting clockwork makes ready.
Machines have no place
Outside the darkened factory.
But with the growing distance
Between seventy-five year old monkey wrench
machine,
and son,
Factories will have no choice
But to close.