Pit bottom, for now,
deserted,
Surrendered back to
the darkness.
Ghosts of colliers
past alerted
And begin to gather,
to press
Themselves into and
occupy
This hollowed earth.
Fossilised fronds
Begin to sway in a
warm, sly
Breeze that blew by
primeval ponds,
Resurrection of
anthracite,
Born again up into a
world,
Never exposed to
human sight,
As actual trees,
before being hurled
Down by storm or
time, as if chance,
Or some undivined
divine plan,
Determined it would
be so. Hence,
Tremendous power
assumed by man,
Until, for all that
industry,
A meagre mote of RNA,
Invisible, but broken
free,
Sent humankind
scuttling away.
Headstock is stilled,
the cage locked down,
Canaries sing for all
their worth,
The last shift’s hooter,
long since blown,
Echoing through our
hollow earth.
Dave Alton
* National Coal Mining Museum of England and Wales.
