My father is an industrious man

but that is not what people see.

What they see is his shocking tan

and jeans full of dust and absenteeism.

On the weekends he does not come in

to enjoy and relax.

He instead stays out - replaces tin

and mingles with the farm cats.

Scrapes the cattle yards

then beds the steers.

Clips the fence in Bernard

and get back here.

With a laugh that lightens hearts

in every room,

his farts never fail

to give a boom.

His callused hands are hard,

yet soft when you need a friend.

They will always be your guard,

especially against that boyfriend.

My father is my hero

in more ways than one.

He has taught me what hard work is

and to not stop until the work is done.