to tell my son, about
hard work.
the cliche
tale of a parent
trying to instill
some sort
of work ethic into him.
i tell him
about the roof tops i've
been on,
the ditches,
the long hours,
the grime of working
with your hands.
scraping by to make
ends meet,
the penny saved,
but it doesn't
sink in.
he's busy
on his phone, he has
friends,
a girlfriend
with long hair in the car.
he has places to go now,
without me,
there is nothing
to say
or do but to let him go,
to stand
at the door and wave
as he drives
away into his own life.
the beach
awaits.
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