Burning coal …

… The Air Smelled Dirty by Marge Piercy : American Life in Poetry. (Hat tip, Rus Bowden.)

I, too, remember shoveling coal into the furnace and carrying out the ashes on trash day. And I spent the first eight years of my life in the shadow of factories, across the street from a scrap iron yard and rail yards. I have nothing but the fondest memories of those days. Factories at night still seem beautiful to me. I didn't even mind the smell.