Dear Bill,

From Costco runs to Walmart hauls,
he steers the cart with pride —
a rotisserie, a flat of goods,
a bargain on the side.

He never pays the asking price;
he'll grin and talk it down.
There isn't yet a deal on earth
that Bill can't run to ground.

A place for everything at home,
each bin and label squared;
and anything that breaks or bends
soon finds his hand prepared.

His joys are plain and all his own —
a tuna salad bowl,
a box of See's, his secret stash,
sweet fuel for a working soul.

The Tesla hums without a sound,
a quiet kind of bold —
he keeps his sights on what's ahead,
on futures still untold.

But under every deal and fix,
each shelf he's set to right,
there's one plain thing he'd never say
yet proves to us each night:

that all the saving, all the care,
the watchful, steady hand,
are just the ways a father says,
“I've got you. Here I stand.”

So here's to Bill this Father's Day —
the dealer, guard, and guide.
We've seen the love in all of it.
We're always on your side.