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



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.


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