We knew we were in trouble
When we couldn’t even get a room at the Heartbreak Hotel
Which wasn’t on lonely street
But we felt lonely enough in the construction dusty hive
By the second day we had jobs
Laying pipe in the sandy clay
A one-armed foreman aimed a ruby-eyed laser down the run
Impressing us with advanced technology
We laboured rough and hard
Drank the nights dry at the Peter Pond hotel
Driving back to camp drunk
I gambled on which of the three bridges swirling in view
Was the real one, and won that bet
When the crew was laid off a couple of weeks later
Nobody panicked
Just got new jobs
In our case working for a masonry outfit
Building a warehouse in the cold
The site was tarp swaddled
Propane heaters roared
Inside it was shirtsleeve warm
Outside the snow came down and ground froze up
We discovered frostbite
Slopped pails of cement up and down scaffolding
Going from furnace to frozen like a menopausal matron
One day as wet snow blanketed everything
I had to hold long lengths of metal trusses for the roof
Perched on a flimsy skyhold
While welders arced the other ends into place
Electrical charges raced across and up my arms
Each jolt a nail driven deep
On weekends we’d drive back to the farm
Remembering the dream of that vestigial commune
In the cold light of a short day
Where tires freeze flat and if you can start the car
The wheels go clunk, clunk, clunk for the first mile or so
In order to start cars on an unwired farm
We learnt the art of placing coffee tins with kerosene soaked rags
Under oilpans and setting them alight
Which left time for a second cup of instant coffee
Which I’d drink while looking out the window
Hoping to not see more orange than I wanted to
As winter deepened the summery convertible became even more of a joke
I’ve known warmer refrigerators in my time
There were snowdrifts on the floor that didn’t melt
Until we hit the Coast
After high-tailing it back home for Christmas
With a few hundred bucks in our jeans
And unaudited revenues of memories made
Whose interest is still compounding
Even today
David Trudel © 2013
