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--chosen-work--
Furnaces
It must have been the crossing points
that woke me that dark night
when steam still pulled Icelandic cod
out of Hull transpennine
and I thought I was in hell
ablaze with row on row stupendous fires
stoked by furious imps and demons
We left the Leeds line arrowing
and swayed away towards the Don
though sparkling banging showers
mountains high and reeling
lurching past the piled up shining
streets of Parkgate dead
deserted dark a different face of hell
Coltsfoots in rough grass reluctant
trees and damaged rabbits claim the sidings
where molten iron ran
brackish pools of wintering fowl
branch lines falter into nowhere
People here were iron-made and bred
dwellings lives more black than night
blacker than the deep-won coal yet
many hearts of furnace red
Their fire is long gone out
their iron rusted into earth yet
people cope they hope for better days
they sell each other foreign cars