'The real tin thing'

View of Boston from Winthrop's Point Shirley in 2003. Sylvia Plath lived in Winthrop for a few years in her childhood. She later wrote about the town, a peninsula north of Boston.

"I can taste the tin of the sky —- the real tin thing.
Winter dawn is the color of metal,
The trees stiffen into place like burnt nerves.
All night I have dreamed of destruction, annihilations —-
An assembly-line of cut throats, and you and I
Inching off in the gray Chevrolet, drinking the green
Poison of stilled lawns, the little clapboard gravestones,
Noiseless, on rubber wheels, on the way to the sea resort.''

-- From 'Waking in Winter,'' by Sylvia Plath