Making a Living

My Daddy met Charlie Daniels
on the street one day
while we were on vacation.
A mechanic and a musician,
they shook hands
over a mop-headed girl in overalls.
Both made their living
with their hands.

Daddy’s hands,
knuckles busted from a backyard brawl
with an engine block,
rough across the palms
from the crosshatched texture
of wrench grips and screwdrivers,
nails stained gray
by decades of oil changes
cracked and peeling
like a summertime snake.

And Charlie Daniels’
with short-clipped nails
and calluses built from pressing
on the rough strings
of a fine instrument
otherwise protected, pale and white—
the palms smooth like porcelain.
A big man with
manicured hams of hands
that appeared quite dainty.

Both had the firm grip
of men who make their living
with their hands.