Tunnel Phobia
You wouldn’t go with me into the old mine –
even a guided tour with hardhat, miners’ carbide
lamp to glitter rich metals revealed by the pick’s
rough stroke. Remember the mystery-mine
in the museum, a child-size cubicle, we had to
duck to fit inside. And there, by magic
of black light, the walls glowed brilliant against
subterranean night. Forget the legends
of haunted shafts, tommyknockers, other
nameless beings of the dark. Forget
the chance of cave-in, dust explosion, fire,
toxic air. Think of it as letting your
self drift down to sleep, perhaps to dream
in gemstone color, silver, and gold.
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