THE MORTAL MACHINE

A poem written for my father, who was born in 1926 and is now similar to an old Model T Ford, needing constant tinkering and maintenance to keep him running. Also, I've done my best to copy his gasping Yorkshire speech. Born in the days of the horse and cart, he started working at the age of twelve down in the mills on the east side of a steel river. He mentioned that not only were the steel drays pulled by the huge Shire horses, but during the Second World War, they also used the might of elephants borrowed from a nearby zoo due to the lack of trucks and the rationing of fuel. He told me that for a boy of twelve, it was a terrifying experience walking past these huge rumbling beasts that were stabled under the railway arches, so that each time a train rumbled over the viaduct, the massive mammals would bellow out their deafening roars.

---

Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/steven-richardson5/message