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.
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.
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.
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