Again With Father

I am again with father and his hard sad eyes.
His shadow is moving as I stare at the ground.
I try to keep pace lost in thought and alibis.
His look is serious and his neck turns brown.
Weathered features and determination I see.
He sets the chainsaw down and files again.
I can see the blue bruised grain in the tree.
I try to flick the sweat bees from my tan.
The briers, vines and little limbs I set free.
The chainsaw gas can leaks as I leave.
Back to back we set on the oak stump.
He wipes his brow on his shirt sleeve.
Silent but I can hear my heart thump.
Turns to me and tells me he is worried.
We get up in a little bit and start again.
Tells me so much of his life is hurried.
Someday you'll grow up to be a man.
I think of him in those golden days.
Trees falling and smells of oak timber.
The sounds of splinter through hazes.
Again I am with father when I remember.