So let me just read some of these and see what happens.
The first one called "Winter Thirst."
Two kinds of coal in Pennsylvania, anthracite
or hard coal, and bituminous, or soft coal,
also filthy coal, and smoky coal.
Coal that makes you cough and die.
That's the way it goes.
"I grew up with bituminous in my mouth and sulfur
smelling like rotten egg, and I first
started to cough because my lungs were like cardboard.
And what we called snow was gray with black flecks
that were like glue when it came to snowballs,
and made them hard and crusty, though we still
ate the snow anyhow.
And as for filth, well, start with smoke.
I carried it with me, I know, everywhere.
Someone sitting beside me in New York or Paris
would know where I came from.
We would go in for dinner--
red meatloaf or brown charcute--
and he would guess my hill.
And we would talk about soot and what a dirty neck was like
and how the white collar made a fine line.
And I told him how we pulled heavy wagons and loaded boxcars
every day from 5:00 to 1:00 AM, and how good
it was walking empty-handed to the number 69 streetcar.
And how I dreamed of my bath, and how the water
was black and soapy then.
And what the void was like, and how a candle instructed me."