The nasty behaviour jumped a generation,
From mother to son in its purest connotation,
Complaining is in his DNA a negative superpower,
Transferred through ages like subatomic pollen of a flower,
It bandied about the blood of his cardiovascular system,
Infecting his heart, pumping nasty barbs to cerebral schism,
This crusty senior however has one saving grace,
He learned to work at a most furious pace,
An inheritance from a farming father with endearing sense of humour,
But smiling to this old man turns into sarcastic rumour,
My jokes no matter subject fly high above his head,
It's working one hundred hours a week that keep him in good stead,
It's hard to compete with his moral code,
His mind can't be humbled inside his humble abode,
Frugal sensibilities match well with his work ethics,
He even cuts his own hair, hell with aesthetics,
But despite all of this, underneath is a man,
Who'd give shirt of his back to the friends in his band,
He takes a hard line with his children most times,
But grandkids saw him sit patient through nursery rhymes,
Gossiping on telephone an unmanly trait for a curmudgeon,
But blowhard about his loved ones you might end up bludgeoned,
Many years of heavy work has built a body made of sinew,
And all the scrimping and saving is meant for family to continue,
Living comfortably on the right side of the poverty line,
I bet you're starting to wish I'd make this guy a friend of mine,
I don't have to though cause he's my dear old Pop
And if my heart were ever to break he'd build a new one in his shop.
~Farls Tokley