Nice

Your uncle isn't nice, my father said,
And I always believed him when he spoke.
My father never did much, he was broke
Most years, although he kept his children fed
(In our best years still sometimes short of bread),
But each day, from the moment he awoke,
He told the truth, and never took a poke
At anyone — he turned aside instead.

All that made our lives harder, I might say,
So when my uncle, who sold shirts and ties,
Made me his partner, this was a surprise.
My father's ethics were the only way
He could survive, but with some cash in play
(Unlike my father), I will tell you lies.