Poem: ‘The Cooling Towers of Didcot’
Patrick McGuinness, 4 May 2023
It was the inattentive eye that saw them best:breeze-block vases with their tapered waists,their smoky pouts. They were modest,
middle-distant; they had the permanenceof grey things: seen but rarely noticed;or, if noticed, only once.
When the dynamite sapped them, a rippleclimbed their flanks; their mouthswere trying to say something difficult.
They hesitated, as if falling was a choice,and when...