The river has a voice,
secured within the constant
flow as it passes the factory.
It remembers the first block
set as the cornerstone. The steam
from engines great and small.
The windows and chimneys. The
bricks and grease.
….and the men wearing overalls
sweating over iron, the gold for
cities rising into the clouds.
Here sons and fathers stood all day.
Their hands creating a nation so
conceived.
The machines continue. Fans turn
the air. Furnace’s belch steam. Hammers
and pulleys shape and twist, stretch
and deliver.
A whistle calls to order. First shift
to lunch.
Roger Singer 