I was terrified to hear the
rumbles overhead and feel
the tremors and aftershocks.
Then, they came back
This time thrusting steel down to penetrate
our tunnels. Tearing regular scoops
up, up, up
as if a hand from a giant
was reaching from the sky, snatching its quarry
and momentarily drawing it level with
it’s eyes, like in the cartoons or the old advert for Chewits.
Then almost as quickly unclenching the fist in disappointment
allowing gravity to do its best.
Occasionally the magnesium flares broke through
and we cruelly had no coloured glass
It’s a primitive instinct; fight or flee
But in every species? Anyway, we definitely fled, and
it would not have looked like fleeing to you, I imagine.
I suppose if you were to multiply
the sheer number of us frantically scrabbling, then
the resulting energy would still be mightily impressive.
It’s not a vector quantity, but I can’t help feeling
the fact there was a definite flow pattern has to count
for something. It has to.
Like an army of peasants at the top of a tor
We tumbled in our own time frame down the cotil
At last, to a shallow gradient, the rumbles
different, rubber on tarmac – higher pitch
less throaty. This is the border.
Exhausted and relieved, here is refuge
Under a tidy green sky with dandelion vapour trails
and bedding plant clouds.
This’ll do for now guys. This’ll do for now
Overhead, the foxglove nodded in agreement.