mysecondcupofcoffee



The Roof

It’s how I met my dad
That summer on a roof
We didn’t talk before
And then we went up the 13 rungs of a silver ladder

Our gloved hands ripped old torn shingles from their place
Dad taught me—showed me—how to “lay a good line”
Together, we found a rythm, me with a nail gun too big for my hands
Him holding new shingles in place

He told me I was doing a good job, that he was proud of me
A smile hit me in the face

Lunch was eaten on the unfinished ridge
The highest point of the roof
Killing an hour with talk radio and God
Bologna tastes best on a country roof

And then we went down the 13 rungs of a silver ladder
We climb in the Dodge
We head home
At summer’s end, I said goodbye to my dad.

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