Extra

It’s cold and quiet in this concrete building,
this big orange block, this old brutalist building.

The river’s full of autumn leaves and their shadows
drift under the bridge right across from my building.

We waited all day in unseasonable warmth
while over the prairies a midnight storm was building.

Now everyone hangs their heads or looks away at the river.
No-one speaks as they walk in and out of my building.

But work goes on just like taxes and death
and we do what we can for the kids in our buildings.

Work goes on just like taxes and life.
We do what we can for the future they’re building.

Their cupped hands, filled with spring rain and dirt
will be the ones that turn to the job of rebuilding.

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside