YOUTHS ON THE LINE

By Glyn Matthews

Lightning in the wires

welds their bodies,

fries their silly brains

to scrambled eggs

in cranial pans.

Pompeiian arms

reach out

carbon-crisp,

hair still smouldering

in ninny-spikes.

Empty cauldrons,

eyes burned out

charred flesh,

hot mouths devoid

of shout,

caught and

cauterized by electric dogs

that prowl the rails.

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