The Glasgow Factory

This is one I wrote after the Glasgow factory explosion, I had completely forgotten about it until I found this oldie lying around. I don't actually know anyone that was in the blast but made up John because I needed someone to write about.

It was a cruel cold Tuesday morning,
In the middle of May,
And who would have ever predicted,
What was to happen that day.

John McRuff was on his way to work,
Not looking forward to his meeting,
He looked to his left on the passenger seat,
At the packed lunch he’d never be eating.

The meeting stops for a coffee break,
He sighs and slumps in his chair,
He thinks of his son in the Maldives,
And says “I’d rather be there.”

Suddenly an explosion from below,
Sends tables and people flying,
John lies helplessly on his back,
Among the injured and dying.

Outside the survivors begin to dig,
Through the rubble and debris,
Trying to tug their colleagues out,
Trying to set them free.

As screams from the trapped get fainter,
And hopes begin to die,
Of finding lost and loved ones,
It seems the end is nigh.

Tears stream down young faces,
As families cry for the dead,
A woman falls to her knees,
And a fireman shakes his head.

A body bag contains a father,
He was a brother and a son,
A loving husband to his wife,
A good friend to everyone.

A lonely lost child sits on the curb,
Of his family at home he’s the last,
Both of his parents were tragically killed,
In the fatal blast.

John is rushed to hospital,
He’s so lucky to be alive,
When he was trapped beneath his desk,
He thought he’d never survive.

So spare a thought now reader,
For the families and the friends,
For them the terror is still there,
It never ever ends.

A prayer for the unfound bodies,
And think of lucky John,
Who could’ve been one of the people,
Who’s lives are forever gone.