Bad Mechanic

I am a malicious mechanic.
I am a bad man.

I adjust valve clearances imprecisely
So poppet valve seats heat and wear
and heads pop off like dandelion flowers from stems
in childrens’ wicked hands

I ignore squeals and moans and similar indications
of engine distress
I re-use old oil filters
and change customers for new ones

I set ignition timing imprecisely,
allowing detonation to destroy what it will.

I underestimate repair charges by twenty to thirty percent
I flick cigarette ashes into intakes, carelessly

I don’t bother with spark plugs gaps. Rather,
I install plug as delivered,
which can cause poor running
and ignition issues.

Regarding engine rebuilds,
I forget to check sludge traps on crankshafts
I often place piston rings in inappropriate positions
With the land gaps lined up in order. I’m lazy.
This leads to blowby and oil loss and worse
Carbonation on piston crowns, then detonation

I neglect to measure
Engine clearances
Cylinder Bores
Piston skirt diameters
Bearings

My torque wrench and calipers are uncalibrated
My pry bar is ringed with wear

I drink Pabst Blue Ribbon during the workday.
Hey! I turn wrenches for eight hour stretches
And often need motivation.

I use only the cheapest of petroleum products
I charge customers “disposal fees”
I leave greased fingerprints on paint

Often in the presence of clients
I scratch my crotch in rigorous manner
And seal deals with a grease-gloved handshake. Whatever.

In consulting customers
I bend over wheel wells and point to potential problems
And proffer my ass crack in their direction
As I mumble explanations

My breath is like a hot, unaired attic
My attire is covered with
Fluid spill and spatter
And engine oil is drawn deep
into the folds of my fingers