the handy man

there was always

a guy

in the neighborhood,

a husband

or brother, an uncle

maybe,

that could fix anything.

a handsome,

charming fellow

who was crafty and smart.

ours was Joe.

he'd come over with

his tool bag

while the husbands

were at work.

he'd fix the washer, the dryer,

then

take a look at the furnace,

he'd figure out

why

your lights were flickering.

toilet running,

no problem,

he'd be on the kitchen

floor

with his head

under the sink

turning a wrench with his

muscular forearms

while the lady of the house

made him

coffee and muffins.

tv on the fritz, joe

had that too.

squeaky headboard

rattling

against the bedroom wall,

Joe could tighten

things up for you.

ten years later there were

a lot of children

in the neighborhood

that looked

exactly like Joe.