Fix It, Please

Remembering Sam R. Breedlove, June 22, 1915–December 24, 2005, and Alma Ellen Anderson Breedlove, May 2, 1916–December 3, 2006.

We wore out the book titled Fix it, please,
and the phrase wriggled into the family’s speech.
A roller-skate broken or two bunged up knees,
the technique to rid mossy socks of a leach–
it wasn’t a problem. If Mom didn’t know,
the answer was simple, to Daddy we’d go.

From college we’d call or make pilgrimage back
when puzzled by life and befuddled by men.
Then husbands and children with fast-track
careers, that recipe’s lost, can you tell me again?

The years are relentless, the questions become
how to counsel our own as they fly from the nest.
Mother won’t meddle but asked, wise words come,
and Dad can explain and the best answer suggest.

The doctor believes he’s repaired Mother’s heart,
a pacemaker backup when hers doesn’t start.
Now Daddy’s not sure just what pills he’s to take
and the old hurdler’s steps make his daughter’s heart break.
Now where’s the foundation, the bedrock, the hold?
Somebody please fix it! They can’t be this old.