An Unknown Man Speaks of Iron
I retrieved some lumps of iron
from the broken hull of a Dreadnought
battleship
and carried them in my kitbag through the war.
I used them to prop up planks of wood
to sleep on to avoid the scorpions.
I used to feel the iron’s texture
wondering at its history
and how it could be shaped,
I love history but could only
imagine the iron’s past.
When bashed or battered it would sing,
the metal improved with the working
to a higher density. I used it to make
something graceful - paper knives
for the Queen’s Silver Jubilee.
Iron work went out with mass production,
became too expensive. Still, I loved it:
red to white hot, bruised back to blue cold.
It might tell a thing or two
worth the hearing, if only it had a voice.
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