RTB Landore long ago

 RTB Landore long ago

there is dust in the air at the foundry

and smoke is brewing beneath the mould

such sunlight as slopes from the skylight tardy

is slanting as it did in those photos of old

grizzled the muscles of the furnace-men shining

leather aprons drawn round and sweat waxed taught

they are poking the metal spout flowing to the brimming 

the cupola’s last pot of the day that aught to be

whistling up the gantry when thumbs up are ready

threading the hook through the ladle’s iron loop

up she goes red hot and steady now steady

now blazing on the side of a moulder in stoop

fizz the sparks in the hair of a ear go zizzing

smooth the flow into the heads and the gates

azure the smoke is slowly climbing demanding

that hose is sprayed on a leak that is threatening to spate

then the shift is over and the hooter is calling 

the fettlers to grind yesterday’s casts that are cold

home trail the men each one is yawning

home to a sleep on the sofa like moulders of old

will soon slake a thirst that is legendary

over domino pints in the smelter’s arms

every bit of their day is steadily ready

so see that this hard life is not without its charms