The Barnsley Engineer

by Ian Clegg Walsh · from Heavy Rusted Steel

Lathe your power on me turn and turn wet and cold you ride meanwhile the ginger's husband is snug between the sheets
Grey days out of the blue a zebra crossing. metal curls spiral down, seven degrees of everyday freedom
I'm not a man because I don't get to eat the steak. it won't be long son before the devil comes knocking at our tvc14 door
A lost memory wakes the smell of your overalls, metal and grease. the Barnsley Engineer Garellis all the way home. any one for egg and chips?
The bits they started to wander, concerns they spin and the filings flew. you've got a cheeky, upon it rolled your eye
The page turned so suddenly a fictitious chapter began, of UFOs and Alsatian dogs. condoms in your pocket dismay confidence!
You have no confidence she said, don't bother to come back he thinks. all this you can't grasp it's some geological period in the rocks at a time long gone
When no one answers the telephone he suffers, and the confident air you see as lacking, well to me it was quite disturbing
Stick with your fate you who had no mind of her own. is that what I found in a tin somewhere? bits and drills and rubber soles
A tragedy starts to unfold a man who worked hard to keep his family together, let down in a working town. not intentional it was centrifugal force man, myth and malice
Teen hormones potent as steel. the phone rings and rings and no one is collecting. the moor girl takes note the one true malevolent. you're an anvil, all the rest just slivers of metal flying around
What is it you make that makes us money are we so ungrateful? does anyone in that firm remember you? I'm not embarrassed, I'll watch her now
Those fine delicate adjustments, well they're no longer needed. just now those feet rise and turn

This poem appears in Heavy Rusted Steel — over 50 poems, 280 pages.
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