The Braddock Brace

[Chorus]
This is the sound of the world we’re making
This is the shape of the joy we’re taking
The concrete cracking, the old walls shaking
This is the shape of the joy we’re taking

[Verse 1]
The VFW Post on Talbot Avenue, Tuesday at seven-fifteen.
The fluorescent ballast hums a busted, flickering scene.
He drops his registration, a gesture of practiced disdain,
His knuckles thick as walnuts from a life outside the rain.

[Chorus]
This is the sound of the world we’re making
This is the shape of the joy we’re taking
The concrete cracking, the old walls shaking
This is the shape of the joy we’re taking

[Verse 2]
She keeps her posture perfect, a piece of living rebar.
The smell of stale coffee hangs thick around the voter bar.
“‘Just a pretty face,’ he mutters, and doesn’t meet her eye.”
A hairline fracture in her smile is the only clear reply.

[Bridge]
Her cheap pin says VOTE, the ink is starting to bleed.
She is the silent scaffolding that holds up the whole creed.

[Outro]
She squares the paper on the desk, looks up from underneath her hair,
She takes a single, steady breath to fill the quiet air—