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Handyman | A Poem by Donal Mahoney

If he were perfect, then
he wouldn’t be
Dan the Handyman,

laying tile
in crooked rows,
painting windows shut,

installing commodes
that flush up.
If he were perfect, then

he wouldn’t take jobs
that he can’t do,
because if he did,

he wouldn’t be
Dan the Handyman,
whistling

when things go wrong,
cursing when
things go right.

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