Downturn

On the flaking swing, aching fingers pulling
At the stubborn laces of his boots,
The smells of dust and dirt and oil
Emanating from him as they always do
Before he showers them away in steam
Of his own making soon to come
And smiling for the boy while at his task,
The pulling off of boots and socks,

Tousling his hair
With yellow smile, he's softly saying
Layoffs came today;
Lots of time for fishing, boy.