(Lockhart is, was, a cotton mill village in SC.)
They're spawned in a gene pool
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where have you been R.G.? i suppose you've been where you are now. i'm just a little late reading this. i really enjoyed this. you make history come alive here. poor fellas (and gals?) (probably) . i got a bit mixed up when i read bolt pintos; i thought about bolting together Pintos (i believe there was such a car, but they were probably welded) . and i think your use of nabs (as a noun) is poetic license, which you (and i) deserve. i just reread the last stanza: They mount the stairs to red light machines Like sailors mount stairs to red light dreams, With the urgency of the damned. i didn't understand red light dreams at first reading. NOW I UNDERSTAND! and i liked especially the birth description and the cups part. yuck. ha ha, not. thanks for sharing. it is nice to read a poem in which the poet uses punctuation the way i was taught to use it. to MyPoemList it goes........... bri :)
Great poem. I live in the North West of England where there were once many cotton mills and their legacy remains. Interesting to read.
A very very strong poem, Gordon. Certain turns of phrases in it have my utmost admiration. And how very much more you know about these people than you say I can imagine. The weight of that knowledge certainly counts in this poem. Top drawer!
A really great poem, there used to be a lot of working mills round my area when i was a kid. There all gone now. A great write.
R.G., GREAT poet note you've added. it clarifies 'nabs' for me and i thought the cups were for upchucking mill dust caught in workers' throats. i hear snuff can be rough....on a body, like other tobacco is sometimes. yuck! [of course one still reads once in a while about sweat shops (illegal) in the u.s. of a.] thanks for sharing, especially that you worked there as well. bri :)