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On January 15th, it wasn’t snow that kept schools closed,
but rivets popping like machine-gun fire, a steel tank bursting,
two million gallons of molten molasses spurting into the air.
First a dark rumble, then a roar, as the North End
turned into a wet, brown hell. Autos and wagons mired,
freight cars crushed, entire buildings crumbled like pasteboard.
The Great War was done; no need to turn molasses
into alcohol for ammunition, but Purity Distilling
demanded one last batch before the end.
Twenty-two dead, horses drowned, hundreds injured.
Clean-up crews and rescuers, knee-deep in makings of rum,
listened as church bells pealed in Prohibition.
Throughout the city, for decades afterwards, they say
you could smell the sweet aroma, and on certain buildings,
if you looked closely, the high water mark left by molasses.
This poem first appeared in Flint Hills Review, 2005.
Used here with the author’s permission.
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Nancy Scott was an author and artist in New Jersey. Managing editor of U.S. 1 Worksheets for more than a decade, she was the author of five full-length books and four chapbooks. Nancy began writing poetry in the mid-‘90s as a way to share experiences and insights from her earlier career as a social worker. Nancy's latest poetry collection, A Little Excitement, was named "first choice for summer 2021 reading" by North of Oxford. Her art was frequently hung in juried shows and, sometimes, her poetry and art were featured together.
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TheSilverOne:
A tragic and forgotten bit of history, now told in this wonderful poem!~~DORIS
Posted 01/19/2015 05:06 PM
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Jo:
I really liked the history in this poem and was unfamiliar with it. Thank you.
Posted 01/19/2015 12:54 PM
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pwax:
A lot of history here. I'm sending this poem to my daughter who lives in Boston.
Posted 01/19/2015 08:18 AM
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KevinArnold:
A most delicate portrayal of an infinitely sticky subject.
Posted 01/18/2015 11:22 PM
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