Farrowing House Ruin
Our rubber toes set well back from the rim
(from horror more than from self-discipline),
we scanned a black horizon in the ground
where concrete met thick water part-way down
the Pit. A tragedy of burnt up pigs,
a fascination, warning for us kids,
the times we stole a look at it alone,
it pushed us back and penetrated bone.
The mysteries that somehow we all share
will be covered over or laid bare.
All grass now, grace has dug the Pit a grave.
From secrets, too, we can be saved.
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