Redux

My niece, daughter of my sister,
the botanist, swings into my office,
announces she has just re-engaged
her ex-fiancé—her third shot. I say, Whoopee,
another Extreme Home Makeover show!
I toss my hat at the ceiling—
watch her snag it just inches
before it hits the floor. I say, Don’t you
weary of reassembling the poor guy?

She slaps my hat on my head, says,
If the second time around is better,
like the song says, the third must be best.

With the same guy?

It’s not the same guy. I’m renovating him
in time segments—little by little.

So each time you get a hold of him
the less remodeling you have to do?

That’s right.

But in the interims he must do a lot
of damage to what you tacked on.

Some, she says. But there are things
that I set in concrete that stay intact.

You ever think of investing in something
you don’t have to rebuild?

She rolls her eyes at me, says,
We’re talking about men—not houses.
There aren’t any like that on the market.

No, I say. Those are a special breed.
They’re not for sale.
We call them—bachelors.

Patrick O’Neill’s verse with its wonderfully “everyman” characters brings so-called “common folks” to a literary immortality that demands his inclusion in the pantheon of old and new great poets.
—Del Reitz

Born in Pontiac, Michigan, Patrick O’Neill grew up and attended high school in Waterford, Michigan, received his bachelor’s and master’s degrees from Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo, taught English for a few years at Comstock High School, then moved to Ironwood in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula where he teaches college writing and writes poems, stories, and plays.