Photograph of a Father

A man sits on a white wicker couch,

Which his wife picked out

One hand of warped and flaking branches grasping another

Next to a mutt he never wanted but has loved like a child

On a porch he built himself years ago

Stained, but never painted

Half smiling,

Unfortunately aware of the photo being taken

Wearing his uniform of grease, sweat, and sawdust

Denim jeans whose fabric is struggling to cling together at the knees

Tan boots with too long of laces

Tied twice

Carrying the mud and dust of several years wear

Not resting, merely taking a break 

From waking up early on the weekends to bake cinnamon rolls

From leaving the television on and walking away

From battling the lawn mower for the seventy fourth time

From talking on the cellphone while he drives

From forgetting to balance his checkbook

From visiting his sick father after work

From playing video games with his children

So that he may drink his Nantucket blend coffee

With cream and a spoonful of sugar

And ask his wife how her day has been.