Verse

A technician whose gain was too high
Saw grass growing up to the sky.
He reset to the line
Set by the procedure's design,
And the screen cleared up. Sensible guy.

Gel on the cold steel.
One pulse goes in, one comes back.
The back wall is home.

Signal dies away.
The dead zone keeps its secrets.
Ringdown fades too slow.

A phased array's elements fired
On delays so well timed and inspired
That the beam took a turn
For the flaws it would learn,
Then focused, and never got tired.

There once was a probe running dry
That got not a signal, oh my!
Then a drop of the gel
Made the screen come out well,
And the back wall stood tall in reply.

Corrosion at last.
The gauge reads half what it should.
The weekend is gone.

A probe that was lifted too high
Gave a signal that wasn't a lie,
But it wasn't a flaw;
It was lift-off, I saw,
So I pressed it back down with a sigh.

Eddy currents fade.
Deeper in the steel they thin.
Surface flaws shout loud.

Tube after tube clean.
One small pit near the support.
The report gets long.

Into slower steel
The beam bends toward the normal.
Sines hold the ratio.

Seventy-four days.
Half of the source is gone now.
The schedule remains.

A radiographer, careful and wise,
Doubled distance, to everyone's surprise:
The intensity fell
To a quarter, as well,
As the inverse square law justifies.

Safelight, soft and red,
film sleeps in a paper bed.
Then someone walks in.

Said the film to the lead screen, 'I mean,
You're the sharpest support I have seen.'
Said the lead, 'It's just me
Dropping scatter for free
So your image stays crisp and clean.'

Double your distance from the source,
And the dose falls to a quarter, of course.
So step back a few feet,
Let the math take your seat,
And let the law do the rest, with full force.

No chemicals now.
The image appears at once.
Still, the client waits.

My dosimeter clips on my chest,
It keeps every record and does its best.
It never complains
Of long shifts or rains,
And it never asks for a rest.

Dark booth, black light glow.
A bright line along the weld.
Or maybe just lint.

A steel bar with a field far too strong
Kept the washers and bolts all day long.
It collected a spoon,
Then a clipboard by noon,
And the foreman said, 'Something is wrong.'

Clean the part, then add the field,
Let the particles be revealed.
If the line is sharp and clear,
Mark it down, the crack is here.

Part leaves the machine,
still holding on to its field.
Wrench sticks to it too.

Dwell time, nothing more.
Red thread blooms on the white coat.
The crack tells its tale.

An inspector who rushed through the dwell
Found no cracks, and she thought, 'All is well.'
But the part came back through
With a crack in plain view,
And the customer had much to tell.

Cleaning first, then the dye,
Let it dwell, don't be shy.
Wipe it right, then dust it white,
And the crack will come to light.

Low light skims the weld,
a ridge of shadow appears:
undercut confessed.

A weld seemed quite sound to the eye,
With no flaw that a glance could spy.
Then a light, held down low,
Made the undercut show,
And the welder said, "Grinder, stand by."

My mirror on its little pole
Found rust inside the narrow hole.
It never lies, it only shows
The things the report won't disclose.

Tap, tap, tap, clear tone,
then near the edge, a dull thud:
the glue has let go.

The boss said the seam was airtight.
The tech said, "Let's soap it, all right?"
Then a bubble, then ten,
Rose again and again,
And the boss admitted, "Not quite."

There once was a tech who climbed high
With an instrument under his eye.
When the battery died
At the top, he just sighed
And enjoyed the view and the sky.

Update complete now.
Menu moved to somewhere else.
Gain is hiding. Why?

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
The cable worked fine
Till the client walked through.

Round dots on the film,
the shielding gas left early
and left these behind.

Slag hides in the groove
beneath the next pass, and waits
for the film to talk.

Said a discontinuity, with a sigh,
"I'm no defect, so please pass me by."
But the table said, "No,
You are too long, you know."
Now it's rejected. Goodbye.

Corrosion never takes a day,
It works while others are away.
So check the wall, and check it twice;
Thin steel is not a good surprise.

There once was a Level III sage
Who had memorized every page.
When you asked him to rule,
He would say, calm and cool,
'It depends on the edition's age.'

Logbook, blank again.
Tonight I'll copy my notes
from the field notebook.

The Level I asked, 'Where's the answer key?'
The Level II said, 'It's in there, you'll see.'
The Level III said, 'It depends,'
And that's where the lesson ends,
With a brand-new edition for free.

The clause said, 'For details, see B.'
B said, 'Table four will tell thee.'
Table four, with a grin,
Said, 'See clause one-ten,'
And that's where it started for me.

Table six point one
says the weld is acceptable.
Then I read the notes.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
The code says one thing
And the contract says two.

A welder named Pete took great pride
In a weld that looked flawless outside.
But the film showed a trail
Of fusion that failed,
And Pete's pride began to subside.

Bead smooth, bright, and flat.
Beneath it, a hidden gap.
The film will tell all.

The welder said, 'Inspect it today.'
The inspector said, 'Well, if I may,
There is undercut here
At the toe, I fear.'
'Don't worry,' he said, 'it'll grind away.'

A technician whose report was late
Swore, 'It's coming, I swear, by eight.'
But eight came and went,
And his time was all spent
On hunting the right file date.

Data on the drive.
Drive is somewhere in the truck.
Truck is in Boise.

I wrote the report and I sent it by two.
The client said, 'Great! Can you change it to blue?'
I changed it to blue, and I sent it by four.
He said, 'Could we go back to how it was before?'

A technician stood by at the gate
For the area release, running late.
Said the clerk, 'It's in sight!'
It arrived Friday night,
Which was fine, for he'd billed all the wait.

Cold wind on the roof
Couplant thick as winter mud
Coffee, please, hurry

Night shift, vending light
Dinner is a bag of chips
Sunrise brings the boss

A rope access tech named Lee
Hung high where the wind blew free.
Said the foreman, 'Look down!'
He replied with a frown,
'I'll look when my scan's done, see?'

Motel ice machine
Rattles like a bad cable
Sleep? Not in this room

Confined space entry
Signatures, one tiny hatch
Lunch is cold again

Blade against the sky
Cold hands, a long climb, one scan
The wind says hurry

A client said, 'Make the thing clear
By Friday, and cheap, and sincere.'
The tech said, 'I see,
You want fast, good, and free?
Pick two, then I'll see you next year.'

Quick question, he said
Three hours later, I'm done
It was not so quick

Gantt chart, green and bright
Then one weld gets rejected
Chart turns red as dawn

A scope that began small and neat
Grew daily, a bit, with each sheet.
By the end of the day,
It had grown, so they say,
To a job that required a fleet.

Client email, late
'Can you just' is how it starts
Weekend, goodbye now

Jacket peeled away,
rust has painted the pipe wall.
The schedule turns pale.

The outage was set for ten days,
With plans in a bright-colored maze.
By the fourth, we were late,
By the sixth, it was fate,
And the schedule was lost in a haze.

Tap, tap, tap, then thud.
The panel hides a secret.
The hangar goes still.

Mud up to the axle.
The next weld is ten miles on.
The coffee runs out.

Flashlight in the void.
The hull plates stretch out like days.
The ladder is far.

A bridge inspector named Dwight
Checked a rivet that looked just right.
Then he found, with a sigh,
Forty thousand more nearby,
And he logged them until it was night.

Cold wind, long ladder
One rung, then another rung
The nacelle waits there

A foundry shipped castings with pride,
All polished and shiny outside.
But the film, when we shot,
Showed a pore-filled spot,
And the inspector quietly sighed.

Sunrise on the rail
Cold steel hums a freight train's song
Window now open

The new edition
arrived with moved page numbers.
My notes are wrong now.

Frost on the scaffold,
hand warmers in every glove,
coffee turns to ice.

Noon sun on the tank,
the couplant is running off.
So is my patience.

A pen from booth nine
writes for exactly one page
then retires in peace.

Auditor arrives.
Binders appear, dusted off.
Labels all face front.

Vessel opened wide,
scaffold goes up, permit signed,
clock keeps ticking on.

Outage clock ticks on,
tubes passed, forms signed, doses logged,
day twelve of twenty.

Snow on the scaffold,
last report signed, truck warmed up.
Break begins at last.

Panels laid in rows,
the wing's secrets all exposed.
Deadline: Friday noon.

The ship sat in dry dock, quite dry,
While inspectors checked low and checked high.
They said, 'All is fine!'
Then the date drew its line:
'Undocking is Monday. Goodbye.'

Mud up to the knee,
the spread moves a mile today.
Tomorrow: rain, too.

Bolts ring one by one,
one sounds flat. She marks it, smiles:
the hammer was right.

Towers stand so still.
Seven calm days, and then wind
the hour we begin.

Mile marker one-ten.
Flaw marked, window closing fast.
Train horn: time to clear.

Last day of the year.
The lot needs one signature.
The pen is missing.