For years I watched my husband
Running up and down freeways like cattle
Cold the days or sweltering heat,
He worked for industry's beat.
If he was an inspector,
Or of a women's line director,
I never saw him carry the pride,
Just a job for pay in his stride.
Then came the day he retired, but not bored
Children needed protection from landlord.
Built a house skills learned, no bragger,
Still there's a handsome swagger.
As we wind down these years of ours,
Amidst the times of showers and flowers,
Marriage never once deny his vision's sort,
Cannot be equalled by job or child support.
Times when his shoulders were stooped,
His walk and his arms drooped.
Final revenge against business and flack,
There is a way to put the swagger back.