Member Poem

Dancing Diggers
 
Walking the quarry landscapes on my own
I reached a silver plateau in their midst.
Crushed slate and pyrite glittered on the ground.
Mostly it´s empty. No-one passes there,
abandoned, damaged land that´s left unused.
Except one time, dozens of JCBs,
waltzing like Strictly Dancing in a ring,
like something from the craziest of dreams,
a group of extras for Transformers films.
A firm was demonstrating diggers for sale.
Next day, all the machines had disappeared,
gone off to do their dances some place else,
or maybe settle to more normal tasks.