The Cage Drop

Pit demolition crew joke all will not be there, a memory.
Pit security guard
I laugh. Cage drop, ears pop, reach deepest Barnsley
Bed. Never knew vast gusty dark, blue hat hard.

Its lamp helps avoid stumble on railway tracks,
see yawn of cathedral roof, crumbly soil, root
rot, pit support steel arches. The Drift darkness
I often stared into when above now stares

where once much clank, heat, scrape and busy dust
there is left the gust and heat slow dust. “Turn light
off.” says Deputy. These eyes cannot adjust
to absolute dark, cannot see this hand. “Turn light

back on.” says Deputy. He heaves open small,
latched white wooden door to limewashed storeroom,
discarded tools in stone trough. Once pony stall
where they rested between shifts to feed and groom.

To fresh air, cage rises one last time and date,
To “Land to Let” and Industrial estate.

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