Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

Robert Gibb: Deskulling the Slag Pots

i.

 

You’d see them in the railyard,

Coupled and waiting in line

To be topped off with that cargo

Tapped from the blast furnaces:

Magma they’d freight nightly

Along the ridge of the hill

Where the pots were tipped,

Their guttering eruptions spilled

From the horizon’s line of fire.

They stopped us in our tracks,

Those auroras of white-hot scoria

Runneling the side of the sky.

 

 

ii.

 

Slag that sat in the pots too long

Hardened into the plugged

And cindery, dust-caked skulls

They’d then shuck and trepan,

The crane’s pile-driver chisel

Dropped to rupture the crusts,

The molten dross of oxides

Disgorged in one sudden gush.

A core that matched the planet’s,

I always thought, or mimicked

The cosmic egg at the Big Bang

Exploding its fiery yolk.


 

Copyright 2018 Robert Gibb

For an appreciation of the work of Robert Gibb, click here.

.

Molten Steel At A Foundry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 9,996 other followers

Blog Stats

  • 3,399,266 hits

Archives

%d bloggers like this: