Pit


Now trampolines, roasted strawberries, orange flavoured gum
Tyre swing and wood-chip puddles of blue-black
Water collected.
Like the water lying underground in
The tunnels of the closed pit.
“Where this car park now stands was the transport train underground…”
Tell-tale humps of newly turfed slag
Sit around the edges of the memorial sculpture
In black
Of two miners, shirtless at the coal face
Pick axe in hand
Just like Dad
In Derbyshire on his first day as a Bevin Boy.
One and a half feet high shaft – in on his belly
Pick axe over one shoulder
Till he hit the face
Only to find his pick was
Wrong way round
He had to back out
To the jeering of the ‘real’ miners
Turn the pick and
Shame facedly crawl back
The sordid beauty of the place
The scene of hard labour
Men going out of their minds underground
Pit fall, explosions, cave-ins
Injury, poisoning, black lung
Death.
Can the past interleave the present?
Sitting on the tyre swing in a spot
Once where a man two miles underground
In a dark tunnel stood
Trapped
Praying for rescue
Risk high, ages tempting
Jobs few
Children many
Pregnant wife
Mouths to feed
Aged mother in bed upstairs
Tabs to smoke
Snap to eat
Mates to josh
Boss to hate
Overseer – head down
Ponies to lead
Canaries to carry
Work to do
Keep going till there’s no more going to keep
Shift over
Hands washed
Out.


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