In America, the scaffolding is always up.
It’s never done, completed, this America.
It’s an accident happening now, killing too many.
It’s a work in progress.
It’s like that bad thing you did that you
always wished you could fix:
so, yeah, your chance is now
because in America, the scaffolding is always up.
We’ve always got a chance at building just as shoddy.
We’ve always got a chance at doing better
(even though we probably won’t).
In America the scaffolding is always up.
There’s always construction going on.
Sometimes all that happens is that a hammer gets dropped.
Wear your hardhat if you’re going to hang around America.
It’s a dangerous spot. There’s no insurance.
But if you like building; if you like
fixing wrecks; this is the place.
We’ve always got a chance at building just as shoddy.
We’ve always got a chance at doing better
(even though we probably won’t).
In America the scaffolding is always up.
It may look like everyone is out on strike;
it may look like everyone has given up and gone,
but there’s still some work to do,
a little construction going on.
And the scaffolding is up.
We’ve always got a chance at doing better
(even though we probably won’t).
Here’s your chance at building something.
Grab your hammer. Grab your hat.
We’ve always got a chance at building just as shoddy.
Yet, we’ve always got a chance at doing better.
In America, the scaffolding is always up.
David Breeden has published several books of poetry and translation. He lives in Minneapolis.
