In Memory Of An Old Man

he was an old man then... 6 foot 4, still strong as an ox... a carpenter... and i was his helper; building interstate bridges in the south, walking i-beams, 60 foot off the ground... 2.50 an hour! we used to go to his house after work... he'd scramble a dozen eggs, or so... and break out the sugarhead. we'd spend hours listening to him talk about women, fighting, loving, and just life! carrying a sheet of plywood on a windy day... i wavered, one foot off the beam. i felt his gnarled hand grab my shoulder: 'you dont wanna go down there, boy! ' time has passed, and now i'm old... and i see my daughters wavering on the beam... and i catch myself saying: 'you dont wanna go down there, girl! '