my father could fix
any machine
set in front of him
his mind was made
for disassambly
able to keep all
the pieces in order
seeking the flaw
when he was done
it worked better
than it had originally

he got his start
through necessity
repairing the old
washing machines
at the laundromat
his mother owned
he dropped out of
high school in order
to help maintain
the family business

my father could fix
damn near anything
except for the need
for drink that drowned
his sense of self
even at his worst
when tensions were high
he stumbled through
unable to fix the thing
wrong inside of himself
took a toll on how he
tried to maintain
the world outside
to keep himself
somewhat together

my father always smiled
as he repaired machines
a coffee cup filled
with beer in the morning
a pile of empties
the remnants of the night
a string of equipment
humming along
good as new
as everything else
seemed to fall apart