by R.T. Caldwell
Friday, December 14, 2007
Rated "G" by the Author.
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A Day in the life of a Foundryman
Foundryman sweat, foundryman toil.
Tend that furnace, fired by oil.
Molten metal, cherry red,
Can't dip your ladle til it's orange instead.
Eat that dust man, swallow that smoke,
Ten cents a casting, no wonder you're broke.
Foundryman haul, foundry man lift,
Lose six pounds by the end of your shift.
Coat that ladle, dress that die.
The sun's creepin' higher and you're bound to fry.
Die blocks together man, clamp em up tight,
No money for scrap so make the shot right.
Foundryman pry, foundry man pull.
Ain't no rest til your tote bin's full.
Start the pour slow, finish it quick,
Watch the sprue settle then open up slick.
Split that die man, whattya got?
Misrun, cold-shot, back in the pot!
Foundryman push, foundryman strain,
Roof's got a leak and it's startin to rain.
Ice-cold water, red-hot melt,
Biggest explosion that you've ever felt!
No smoke here pal, enjoy it while you can,
Air-conditoned comfort on your hospital plan!
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|Reviewed by Karen Palumbo
|Interesting tale of those who do work and toil, all to feed themselves and their families. Well done....
|Reviewed by richard cederberg
|Immediately reminded me of the folklore about John Henry. A good write that flowed off the tongue with ease, while exemplifying one of the bones in the skeleton of unsung American heros.|