Mill Men

by Carla Hunt

In steel towns, the men leave
at peculiar hours,
haul their brawn and loyalty
over snowy midnight roads
to the Mill and when they come back
we stay out of their way.
They need their sleep.

Some men work the Cold Mill all their lives.
The chill works its way into their
eyes and lives and wives.
Rolled flat sheet metal silent eyes
Gray, flashing, cold . . .

Blast furnace men talk loud and fast,
drink beer to cool their molten lives.
Funny, fiery, careful men
who die in an instant, vaporized,
everything gone but their steel-toed boots.
It only takes one slip.

Some men work inspection
and forget why they come home
that their family isn't a work crew.
Their eyes are keen and trained
to find the flaws and point them out.
These men are always right,
their scrutinzed families almost perfect
but never quite.

In steel towns, the men leave
at peculiar hours.
When they get back
to their hot roast beef
and mashed potato suppers,
they find their poet daughters
long gone.