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      November 9, 2018The Call to PourRyan Thier

      “Number nine crew; number nine to pour.
      number nine crew: number nine to pour.”
       
      Our melt shop muezzin’s call drones out
      thrice daily over the plant P.A. system.
       
      The melters,
      men, sometimes a woman, varied races and ages,
      dressed in the Liberty green union jumpsuits,
      turn in the direction of furnace number nine
      to begin their prayers.
       
      Working the knobs, the dials, the cranes, their devotions
      manifest as a golden stream, a waterfall of liquid metal
      slowly pouring out into four tall molds.
       
      This time, yield is high—no spills, no blockages.
      The ritual is successful, the plant runs smoothly,
      the melters return to other tasks,
      the giant flatbed freight trucks continue
      to arrive and to leave.
       
      The front-office managers, spreadsheet maestros,
      see only ticks on a trendline, an
      incremental increase
      in the tribute submitted to their chieftains—to them,
       
      the glimmer of the waterfall, the liquid light
      diving from the crucible in half a perfect parabola,
       
      runs out unnoticed.

      from #61 - Fall 2018

      Ryan Thier

      “I’m a metallurgist who’s currently living and working in Chicago. I’ve spent time living and working in both central New York and central Illinois as well. Work and relationships factor heavily into most of my poems. I try to find the small magical tidbits that frequently pop up in both of these areas.”