GRANGEMOUTH REFINERY ASBESTOS QUARANTINE SCARE


Three in the morning
Turnaround, shut down spring cleaning
Petroineos, Grangemouth Refinery
Carcinoma Alley, Vale of Burning Tears
I just stepped outside for a
breath of cracking hydro air
Rubbing eyes, idly watching
steam hisses, hi-viz jackets
scurrying past in the half-dark
lit up by mobile light units
Coming and going reporting on a
hundred secret hush-hush spy-crack
therapeutic subcontractor missions
When the ant farm starts churning
Throwing confused messages our way
An ill wind blowing nobody any good
Orange-overall BP troublemakers,
site overseers, clipboard worshippers
down-nose lookers, penalty assessors
Streaming into our building
Glib quips, boots on concrete stairs
Oblivious, I stand a few moments more
then turn to go back to the job
But somehow suddenly locked out
of the blastproof building, frowning
Orange disorder man standing looking
at me through the door window,
Lets me in, no idea what the fuck,
go back and sit down to rising mutterings
Asbestos scare, somebody might have
contaminated us all leaving a possible
flying asbestosis dust site to come back here
Violating protocol dancing over
well-honed rules and regulations
Dark whisperings, asbestosis,
flying contaminants
gushing stuttering lungs
Queasily counting the
could-be future 
hammering horror tolls
Sit and stare blankly at computer screen
It affects everybody differently apparently
Let’s just see worry growing quietly in gut
Half-hearing raised voices, swearing sliding
under grey diagram-pinned partitions
Fuck this and fuck that, somebody getting
and giving a brutal bollocking, mental,
must be getting fired for talking to
BP cunts like that shake head frowning
Few minutes of hands-in-pockets our-team
gossipy shrugging conspiratorial whispering
As orange hardhatted men mill and plot
Then called over by a blonde middle-aged woman
One of the few women on site at night
Calls the odds, settles and lays down the score
Explains the situation, repeats protocols
Sighs asbestos etiquettes, stay in position
if you think you have found death in a corner
Shout for help, don’t leave, cross-contaminate,
put everybody at risk, cluck and tut and moan
These rules exist for a reason gentlemen
Don’t let it happen again alright
Fair enough, all got a job to do
And then sudden dissipation of
Orange drama queen cloud into the night
Wrongs righted, children scolded and
told by elders and betters and more-paid
the indoor-voices playground rules and laws
Governing petrochemical safety conduct
Leaving a small sea of angry confused muttering
in their made-their-bored-night wake
Cunt shouldnae have done this, what the fuck
What a load of shite there never was any
asbestos this is an old plant, some groaning
machinery pushing a weary century
Asbestos stickers everywhere but no danger
No worries, no horrors,
no airborne furies,
no pulmonary wraths,
no spitting blood
and coagulated thunder,
just another tiny skirmish
in the half-coordinated TAR wars
And we all
don’t fall
down.

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