On the Roof with Death
When sawdust rolls like marbles under our boots
on the newly sheathed roof three storeys up
we talk of falling. It’s like butter boxes, Dale says.
We could slide real good. Only hurts when you land!
He yells this suddenly
as if to warn the neighbours.
Dale is a journeyman.
I am his apprentice.
You know the people who live for the moment, he says,
laughing. They yell “Whee!” all the way down.