If my father was alive, he’d know what to do.
He always knew what to say, how to phrase it.
Maybe I’d send my son there for the summer
to spend time with him on his southern farm.
He would’ve taught the boy how to work hard,
to take pride in your work. He would’ve shown
him the importance of rising early in the morning
and not worrying about when it’s quitting time.
Of course tractor driving lessons would take place,
along with how to be strong willed, respectful,
while not to caring what others think about you.
All lessons would be given with a certain firmness,
yet he would’ve caved in now and then, a sparkle
in his eyes, a mild grin, an exhale before speaking.
All signs to let you know it was for your own good.
Only if he were here, he’d make it all look so easy.