Keep Out (Poetry)

The sign, black-lettered, prominently placed,
makes clear it isn’t safe to enter here —
the pit long-closed, the coal yards left to waste,
the rusting chainlink fence the last frontier.

But, where weeds invaded, children followed on
and claimed it for its ghost-town-like appeal —
a theme park with a difference — profit gone —
and spooky with its dead, unwinking wheel.

The rain, which greened the spoil tips, bloated wood
and trickled down where pit props leaned their weight
as torches flickered, marked the rising flood
and voices whispered, warned them of their fate.

Too late — the water gushed and rushed and roared,
excitement turned to terror on that ride —
no prices on Death’s great adventure board —
thrills all the way until the last one died.

The sign was right — its painted words ring true
since tragedy’s own power to appeal
has illustrated what we thought we knew —
but only now the danger’s proven real.