after the mines
Afterwards, after the town died
in a cloud of coaldust,
and was reborn, a little more
corporate, a little less itself,
after all that, my brother met them:
big men. Men who’d wrestled
with the world, gone down
into the dark places, juggled
earth and fire and water,
strong men, proud men,
screwing the tops on lipsticks.
You have to work. Coal isn’t king.
Money rules. Cash wins everything.
Paul at the Wombwell Rainbow is doing a month long ekphrastic challenge for November. If you haven’t been over there yet, you should check it out. There’s some great poetry there. This is my poem for the image Early Shift by Terry Chipp.