The Colliers Son

Mother and three siblings to keep, bread winner, man of the house, at pit head, down into the deep, to extract coal like a sucking louse, twelve hour shifts, morning to night, water to drink, jam and bread, working in poor artificial light, coal miners life until he's dead, thousand feet down, four miles along, on man rider to coal face, sound of mind, with arms so strong, essential to keep up the pace, with pick and shovel in hand, now at the sharp end, damp hot, more coal employers demand, this hard life is a miners lot, miners blood flows through his vein, coal the centre of his soul, buried Ancestors down pits remain, reaching retirement his goal, from a sunless place,he emerges, moleskin trousers, dirty shirt, gassed canaries, in cages, aged fifteen, an inherited convert, his hands are rough and beat, grime ingrained into palms, his fathers boots on his feet, miners lamp, full of charm, head to toe covered in slack, survived another day young lad, colleague to scrub his aching back, thoughts of dead, especially his dad.