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!
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.
Major League ballplayer Justin Moore is kidnapped from his own ballpark and transported to a foreign land. It might take high-level international negotiations to free him. Or maybe he will take matters into his own hands.
The gifted and fascinating Urban Poet, Asa D Seeley, once again speaks. He introduces a New Genre of Poetry...Reality Confrontation. Juxtaposed with Essay and staying true to his unique style, Asa brings a breath of...fresh air...to the world of poet
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Be safe,
Karen