My best friend at graduate school (well, and in life) is a poet and essayist. This poem appeared in Prairie Poetry.
My father laughed louder, smiled --Dana Salvador
quicker. Even when the wheat
measured only thirty bushels per acre,
he'd tell a joke, wink. Riding home
from the field, he'd calculate bushels
to truck loads to bills he could pay.
Once home, sleep came like a thunderstorm,
unavoidable and full of rain.
My father laughed louder, smiled