Thursday, 3 January 2013

The Mine

The guttural growl of bombers wakes me from my dreamless sleep.
I get up, put on my creased clothes and mud-caked boots. I set
Out for the mine, ready to pulp and pound for my party,
Ready to work for the common good. I go out, and keep my

Head down when a black car curves round the corner, as I cross
The cracked street. It passes; I walk on. A wooden cart follows,
It trundles along, at a less than leisurely pace. I walk
More, the faint sound of a promised parade greets my ears, before

Slowly passing away. I now near the mine, reminded
Of my strength in working on this sacred, suppressed day – a
Banned day – Christmas day. My patriotism defines me, is
My duty to my equal society. Now I reach
The mine, but it is not there. I look round, confused. Now I
See; I’m already there. The mine had silently circled
Round me – I had been there all along. I sit down and think;
Then another bomber flies overhead, and blots out the sun.

By Jack Colley