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Drops of sweat
Fall to the ground
From his furrowed brow,
From the indentions of time
Etched into his face
Telling of years of hard labor.
A sentence handed down
When he left school in the eighth grade,
When he married at eighteen,
When the first of three kids came along at twenty.
From his furrowed brow,
From the indentions of time
Etched into his face
Telling of years of hard labor.
A sentence handed down
When he left school in the eighth grade,
When he married at eighteen,
When the first of three kids came along at twenty.
Every once in a while
When the others start complaining,
When the heat begins to sting his skin,
He takes a picture out of his wallet.
He stops, takes a breath, and takes in the scene.
When the others start complaining,
When the heat begins to sting his skin,
He takes a picture out of his wallet.
He stops, takes a breath, and takes in the scene.
It’d be one thing if he were working for money,
But it’s the love of a family
That reminds him he’s already living the American dream.
But it’s the love of a family
That reminds him he’s already living the American dream.
This poem © Kevin Walker. Published June 2012.
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