British Engines

Get it On

For Marc Bolan

Walking past British

Engines again, late and after

The summer sun has set

And where the men had

Shuffled up their feet

As the pram went past.

The forklifts come and go.

Valves big enough

For a baby to crawl

Through are palleted

Through the gates

To a heavy lorry

That cuts through

The dust from the demolition

Of the flour mill, the long arms

Of machinery pecking at the

Honeycombed structure that

Has no inner or outer.

Through the open windows

The Jeepster encourages getting

It on while the men in boiler

Suits get ready for the night shift

Their snap in carrier bags

Their eyes glazing over.