On summer days When the sun bore no fruit For the over heated construction crew, My father would remind me Sitting in his 1995 Ford 350 How inadequate we all were Compared to the golden days of framing.
Or he would praise the highest paid On a Friday, payday whose checks We're always there, To build them up for a weekend And let them rest from their Toilings under his sun.
From 15 years ago I can hear his voice, "Your never going to learn are you?" In his solitary voice That confined a tone just for me, A destination unknowing For what a father teaches can sometimes Elude the son with sarcasm And verbal seeds of invalidity.
Honorable carpenter, I remember him never missing a day, His name should be on a wall Somewhere, I ask that I inside of myself Remember the very best of The very worst of him, Which was the side I think Was also the guiding parent.
May he always be , That I rise in the mornings And still hear his voice, I pour coffee into a mug And remember.
May my insufficient ways Honor him with the haze He draped over my confidence, I see my father in a certain way, The eery silence filled With his voices.
On summer days When the heat is too much, My father still pushes me, I swear the humidity is Him breathing down my neck.