What a celebration,
When she died.
You were raucous,
and unapologetic.
Like you promised.
In the red brick streets,
Between back to back houses.
Looking over the fields,
Where the pit sunk.
And you cut coal underground.
And later hurled bricks skywards,
From the Hail Mary treeline.
Your lungs bursting,
As you outran the horses.
The half winding wheel -
Now the grave of the Main.
And deep, capped shafts,
Beneath new, cheap houses.
All that’s left now of ‘84,
Is just old men,
And cheap beer in the club
No one blamed you,
Or the others -
bad chested and bent,
From stooping in the dark.
What a celebration!
You were healed for the day
When she died.