Jump Rod Guides

Our gold mine tour of shifts
& tales in [bellowing] Welsh
tones – chopsing – blown by
dynamite’s effect [& all that
glitters – etcs] & that rugged
bugger dug at fools’ stories
under his tourist-flowing pit
of cuttings & blastings – our
jump rod conducted us to a
pitch-black – lit-black [dense
once turned off] & someone
touched me up – afterwards
she said she was scared/ A
kid was less than a candle’s
expense [no more – now we
have tidy days & Hue lights]/
But Jones is furloughed by a
Tory chancer & slumps – dull
hours without his scripts for
ears – he recites them up top
in a double-glazed bungalow
for none to hear – lechyd da!