Bethlehem Steel

decades later, the thick scent of oil lingers on damp machines

tourists, stroll on steel bridges, listening to Fred a retired foreman, sharing stories

brawny bodies, cold sacred priests lit by a tall paschal candle, warm, flat beer to ward off the heat,
backing off from chopping red, melting infernos, a million gallons of blazing suns, dances in the hall,
where they studied a woman's ankles to ensure they bore the weight of babies before they'd move in,
fights on the floor, a cracked nose, spat blood, coal dug in open pores, we'd be blind by shrapnel

If you were not right in mind, it was purgatory, the devil was inside

a flying shot of spark races through flesh and stings bones

pointing to a black relic, said his buddy died in that there machine. Poor Frank's Ma waited for him to
return each night, kept his seat, for her boy at the table

we served a quiet master we never saw, only pictures, like Nixon or the pope, they were all soft in their
air-conditioned offices

we busted our asses in there, created the steel, before the rust collects, girders, skyscrapers and war
ships, war machines, but the union didn't warn us of layoffs, turning off the lights, the hunger, crying,
sick kids, cold bedrooms in December, slow torture in the midst of the lucky few who had jobs. The
others walked these streets like dead men. Shutting down the plant, that was purgatory, but here's the
thing, the offices stayed open till all those fat pensions were awarded to the greedy devils, so they could
fly off to Florida or rot in hell.