Photo by Dun.can
Night before stood sentry on ice cracked edge
of North Gawber pit above Willow Bank, known
site for Frogbit, Whorled WaterMillfoil waters edge,
and I in the dark contemplate ice in bone.
Whorled Water Millfoil survives harshest icy blast,
turions, shoots sink to the bottom of stillness.
North Gawber colliery on one side, on
other Amco plant. Where lights less I can see
other: tall concrete and steel warehouses, from
this Victorian site alive with story.
Unlike mine repair shops I can hardly hear
hammers, or weldbuzz on gravel walk outside,
another hour and a half, before twenty mere
minute break: coat off, note arrival inside,
pray not dodgy biro, quick slurp flask, before out again to intimate Siberian cold,
crashbright industrial lights flare in yard at door
switch off when you’re out of range, do as you’re told.
Hear gust shake chains on fuel tanks whip up thin
gravel round empty temporary huts,
echo off discarded plastic wrap as if a din
of rigging taps on metal masts and boats.
(2 votes, average: 3.50 out of 5)Charming poems about Night Focused thought on Winter Bold poems on Work
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