Playing in the Mines

Never go down there, fathers told you,

over and over. The hexing cross

nailed onto the door read DANGER, DANGER.

But playing in the mines once every summer,

you ignored the warnings. The door

swung easier than you wished; the sunlight

followed you down the shaft a decent way.

No one behind you, not looking back,

you followed the sooty smell of coal dust,

close damp walls with a thousand facets,

the vaulted ceiling with its crust of bats,

till the tunnel narrowed, and you came

to a point where the playing stopped.

You heard old voices pleading in the rocks;

they were all your fathers, longing to fix you

under their gaze and to go back with you.

But you said to them NEVER, NEVER

as a chilly bile washed round your ankles.

You stood there wailing your own black fear.