The furnaces
once fed with coke and coal dust,
now feed the creeping  rust of idled mills.

I remember
when the Sinter Plant
turned clothesline laundry red;
how we traded orchards for an industry
that devoured us; how it’s hard to find
a decent apple anymore.

Everything
is a tradeoff.  In this steel town
the statue of a girl reading a book
on the lawn of the library
is made of aluminum.

She is dressed
for summer.  This is Weirton, but
it might be Paradise  to her
 who sees with vacant eyes
past the page that never turns.

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