Outflow, Aberthaw
Eels
dangle from the lip of the outflow,
each as
thick as a man's thigh - ‘and the length
of them’ -
the
length of them hangs downwards and backwards,
rewinds
time and climate up from the dark.
They nose
the concrete, pump and pulse their gills
like
industrial valves. They love the water's warmth
as it
bubbles back to sea, a reverse precipitation.
Its heat
has swollen them to muscle, as dense as tyres.
Not for
them the inlet where the pebbles shelve and stir,
nor what
wetlands and reed-beds the Power Station
boasts to bussed and sullen school parties,
with
maps, videos, colour-coded charts.
As the
night trains shunt and clang,
unload
the carbon mulch of giant ferns,
they
mouth and vent, a hundred yards from shore,
grown fat
on steam, more bloated than the monsters in the rocks.
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