My dad's a Pontiac man
smells like car oil and old motors
little black streaks
irreversibly claiming a spot
on his thin white tank top
if you get close enough to kiss his cheek
and I do
maybe you'll smell a little Natural Light
there's always salt on his nose
his sprigs of sandy blond hair
blowing in the warm Georgia breeze defiantly
his smile is almost always sarcastic
pushes lines and dimples into his tan cheeks
skin leathery and dark from working in the sun
yeah he's a Pontiac man.

My dad has his problems
but don't we all
maybe I'd like to see him stop drinking
maybe I'd like to see him smile a little more
hell I just want him to be happy
I've always looked up to him
(even now when I'm almost the taller one)
the picture of strength
maybe he wasn't always there to be my rock
but I never stopped loving him
and he was forgiven before it was due
over the years others would try
but they could never really destroy
that imposing image of him
that imperfect but infallible faith I held in him
yeah my dad has his problems
but so do I.

I have my memories
ghosts from long ago
and I guess I'll never really know
which were dreams and which were real
but now, finding myself an adult too
they seem just vague traces
of a book I read
a life I left behind ages ago
he wasn't always the hero
if I remember correctly
but I couldn't be more proud
of the man my dad's become
and even though the memories are there
I love him more every day.

My dad's a Pontiac man
he speaks with a southern slang
and holds a surprising intelligence
and when he wants to be
he's even gentle and kind
like when I come home crying
because my girlish little heart is in pain
and he holds me
"Did you think they broke the mold after him, girl?"
comforting like no one else could
my dad...
is more than I could ever ask for.