furnace men

 furnaced men

mother shawled by the welsh wind’s hands

the dereliction of her children stands

with walls that weep the white lime of time

begone smoke-turning winds be done

the furnace is lit it has begun on the

fire-furnaced sanded bright-faced men

all veins sweat-muscled and fractious grins

deep in pupils wide and irises smarting when

the metal sparks and slag’s red flow begins

to leap the gaps of trepidation’s dare

as the sherbet runs from their jerry tins

and there the metal men are forged where

each his place in time dares wins

in hierarchies long laid down

every man enmeshed in working there

where stares compare decision’s frown

and dirt encrusts their creviced care

then my son  yes only then  my only son

when they drop the cupola’s ashen load

the beginning of your end’s begun

as you’ll follow your father down that road 

that has it ups and downs for sure for sure

as it runs fast towards bravado’s lure

but just as the pig-iron melts it’s facade 

so you too will say by god was hard 

but where else would comrades melt together

their friendships annealed and forged forever 

long after the furnace has poured its filial load

they’ll say by god we walked that molten road