From Berkeley to Dounreay
to Trawsfynydd to Sellafield
stand the great grey shells,
testament to a belief.
Their functions over,
the fast breeding bred,
the armouries armed,
the eggs boiled,
the roast and two veg,
hot drinks before bed.
Their generation over,
lonely trains draw
their power, secretly,
back to be buried
for generations.
Their purpose spent,
but not their heat,
their half lives hidden,
forgotten by all
but their nuclear family.

Roger J Gould
10 Dec 2015