Of Usage And Misusage Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

I have his pliers,  
hack saw,  
ruler, sledge,
the tools my father 
taught me to maintain.
and which to pick to cinch,  
or torque, or plane
and when to grab a chisel 
for a wedge 
I have her grater,  
pitter,  
rolling pin,  
utensils mother 
used for every need,
She said 
'You picked the right one,  
then proceed
to whisk, or slice,  
or chop, or strain, or skin.”
They were so skilled. 
Each gesture was concise. 
They often said 'You can't...' 
How I'd resent it,
chided 'hasty, lazy, ignorant.'
I learned to spot the cheap,  
the imprecise. 
Just so you can't rely 
on what you've heard.
You have to think and 
pick the proper word.