Day breaks over the Pit Wheel,

its gaunt circumference

dormant and proud;

Along the arterial tarmac that wends

its way down into the village,

oil-drum braziers waft showers of

redflecked orange-sparks over

huddled dufflecoat figures;

Engrossed in the “Crack”

weather-etched faces drain

dregs from shared flasks,

warmed hands pass round

the last of the fags,

snapshut their hollow snap-tins;

Vigil-wearied eyes scan the morning grey

middle-distance trying to make

out the shape of flitting lights,

waltzing their way slowly along

the road,two long vehicles

preceded by four shorter ones;

the cavalcade shimmering like

technicoloured morse-code,

blue and red and blue and red;

Around still flickering braziers,

huddled dufflecoats curtail

their banter and begin to

form cohorts to greet the

arrival of another day,

as it breaks over

the Pit Wheel,

its gaunt circumference

dormant and proud.