Miner

Passing shadows in the night.
And day.
Seasons in an earth-packed hole.
There are no canaries and
the oil lamps gutted long ago.
They’re the only ones to hear their cries.
Echoes down gasfilled seams.
On offer are pills and hope.
Mole blind.
Dreaming about the light.
Angry with their plight.
Mostly bewildered.
And bored.
Sustained by mealtimes.
Enforced intimacy
And an overpowering sense of smell.