Behind the iron mask, heat and perspiration mix,
as metal twisted and fired is
formed and left, enviously, to
cool. At the end of a long night
night, in the face of the bitter
winter wind and mist, we bask
in our frostbitten faces. Laughter
fills the air as the noise of the works
drifts away. The sound of a traction engine, eruptions of metal and flames,
bring back memories of time served
in steaming furnaces, Blackened faces,
stained, torn overalls, bleeding hands,
but no Kings shilling for this shift.
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