Grit,
ground coal,
ash and lung gravel
paid the bills.
Grandpa wore it home
to match the grit
on windowsills.
His worker’s cap
marked him:
social scrap,
laborer,
tall, thin,
Cassius on the trolley,
morning, evening,
foundry-dusted
with other scraps
hollow, rusted.
Sometimes,
when there was meat,
he would get it
because he wore the cap,
carried the big black lunchbox
with the rounded top
and thick strap.
When we rode past
the fiery black mill,
we said,
Grandpa works there!
with pride.
Not knowing.
He was, I think,
smart.
I wonder what he wondered
in this brown, gritty life.
Writing is strange business. I had no intention of trying for another entry in Dan Antion’s Thursday Doors Writing Challenge, but this photo, also Dan’s, wouldn’t leave me alone. It is so reminiscent of where I grew up. Beautiful it wasn’t. Looking at this brought to mind my grandpa and his life there.
Thanks, Dan, for inspiring and challenging us, and for this photo.
Oddments 
June 1, 2022 at 11:08 am
This is a wonderful poem, Maureen. A bit more special since you used y door, and a lot more special because it reminds me of so many of the people I grew up with. Relatives and family members of my friends. I saw these people every day, and often when they would find their way to their preferred local bar.
Thank you so much for supporting the writing challenge, and for your continued support.
June 1, 2022 at 11:24 am
So interesting you would say that. Grandpa’s local bar was the pantry. If my brother and I were lucky enough to be invited to dinner, we’d watch the ritual: Grandpa would go right to the whiskey bottle in the pantry and pour himself a shotglass and tell us he needed his “medizin.” And Grandma would always say in a most deprecating way, “Dan!” As though Grandpa were scandalizing us! I was a lot more interested in his giant lunchbox than in his “medizin.”
June 1, 2022 at 11:31 am
My grandpa’s medicine was wine, but a similar story. If I was stying over, we would play cards at night. My grandmother would make her and I a cup of tea, while he took his medicine.
June 1, 2022 at 11:54 am
That sounds like a moment anyone would love to revisit.
June 1, 2022 at 11:58 am
I think about it whenever I see a deck of cards.
June 1, 2022 at 11:19 am
Lovely poem drenched with the true realities of life. Our grandparents worked hard and it didn’t include air conditioning , a keyboard, or a controller. Happy June, Maureen.
June 1, 2022 at 11:26 am
Thanks, Judy. Realities indeed. How they would have loved air-conditioning! A happy June to you, too, Judy. May there be good things.
June 1, 2022 at 1:16 pm
Hi Maureen. I don’t know what’s taken me so long to follow you. I love reading your comments on Judy’s and Dan’s blogs, and have poked around in your blog often. I’m going to blame it on old age!
So, if you don’t mind that I’m not a blogger myself, I would love to join your followers and put my worthless two cents in.
I fell in love with this bar as soon as I saw the photo on Dan’s post. I’m glad it found its way to your post and is enjoying a new life with you.
My grandparents were hard-working no-nonsense people. Both grew up on farms. They were from the “cash and carry” generation. My grandpa’s bar was his living room chair. Lol! My grandma would not have seen any humor in that! 😵💫
Your poem is wonderful! Happy Hump Day
Ginger
June 1, 2022 at 5:34 pm
Ginger! Hi! I feel as though we’ve met already because I’ve read and enjoyed a lot of your comments and conversations with Judy and Dan. I would be honored to have your two cents! I guess a lot of us who meet in blogdom had grandparents who were hard workers. They were indeed no-nonsense, but they sure knew how to give a kid some fun. I’m glad to hear that this bar resonated with you also; for me, the feel of the image is very nostalgic.
June 2, 2022 at 1:34 am
Your story smoothly let us feel the memory of your grandfather and went so well with that door that wouldn’t let you go!
June 2, 2022 at 1:49 am
Thank you! It’s quite an amazing thing how the doors — with their worlds — work on us.
June 5, 2022 at 7:31 pm
You portray very hard working life – with some benefits! When the coal in the pits in Northern England began to peter out and become uneconomical to mine, the suffering among the coal mining communities was dire, because there was so little alternative work. I remember the long strikes and the harsh way people were treated.
June 6, 2022 at 10:08 am
Life on the edge is wearing. Interesting you should mention coal mining; the grandma here was born into a coal miner’s family. There can be fewer things in life worse than not knowing how you can feed your children.
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September 2, 2024 at 12:09 pm
Very good reading this again.
September 2, 2024 at 12:21 pm
Thanks, Dan!
September 3, 2024 at 1:24 pm
Many of us have traveled far from our grandparents’ lives. Mine were all manual laborers as well, no schooling past 8th grade. And yet, yes, they were vibrant intelligent beings, and where would we be without their hard work? wonderful words, Maureen. (K)
September 3, 2024 at 1:47 pm
Thank you, Kerfe! Of my four grandparents, only one finished high school; he is the one in this memory. Neither of my grandmothers finished grade school, but their knowledge of the practical was deserving of a PhD! Yes, hard work indeed.
September 3, 2024 at 11:20 pm
Yes! We could use some of that practical knowledge.
September 8, 2024 at 7:12 pm
A wonderful tribute to your grandfather, Maureen, and his sacrificial hard work to support his family. It reminded me of family from the past. Thanks!
September 8, 2024 at 9:38 pm
Thanks, Brenda! I’m glad it reminded you of your family too.