A Father's Day Poem

It makes me slightly giddy to think of my dad retiring from retail at the age of 70 and starting his own lawn care business.  Recently --at the age of 87-- he has talked of retiring from his mowing business too.  I think his garden and his porch  are calling...Or maybe it's just the ducks that stop by for bread every morning... Being a Dad involves a lot of responsibility. 

My Father's business was being (a Father's Day poem)

My father sold shoes

for forty seven years

before retiring at 70 

and buying an old truck 

and a couple of lawnmowers 

and now he mows lawns every

 

morning (except Sunday) and comes

home in the afternoon to hose

off the mowers before

 

taking a shower and settling

on his porch with a cooler

and a six pack of Miller Lite.

 

From his chair he can watch

the finches darting

in and out of the shade –splashes

 

of sunlight amongst the leaves,

upon the trellis and along

the porch rail. Sipping 

cold beer, he sighs 

at the world he made

for himself out of almost nothing

but gratitude and quiet 

confidence. And when the warmth 

of evening settles he remembers 

the feel of a woman’s foot

after a day of shopping.

 And reaches into the ice for another beer.