the brick wall

you push the first
wheel barrow full
of bricks around
to the side of your yard.
you mix up cement
and carefully, with a
level, lay out the first
line of bricks into
the gouged  and
flattened dirt. you see
your neighbor in
his window, holding
a drink in his hand.
he salutes you with
a smile. you
wave back with your
wet trowel. when you
bring the next load
of bricks around
your neighbor is standing
there on his side of
the adjoining yards
inspecting your work.
what's up, he says,
building something?
you nod, and keep
working. my grandfather
was a brick layer, he
says, sipping on his
drink. did i ever tell you
that? he pulls a lawn chair
closer and watches you
work, laying brick upon
brick. no, you say. you never
told me that. it's true, he
says. after world war
two he came back
and needed work, he
was wounded in iwo jima....
excuse me you say, i need
more bricks. you go
back around for another load.
finally as the sun begins
to set, the wall is high and
solid, thick. you can hardly
hear your neighbor
still talking. your work
is done.