I am just setting up my camera
to take a shot of a wooden stemple
that must date back to when these were lead mines
when Elvis Costello makes a short,
indistinct noise from behind me.
I turn and catch his torch beam
full in the eyes.
'Hey!' I say, shielding my face.
As my vision adjusts,
I see that several thousand years
of calcium deposits have built up
around his left arm,
trapping him in the wall
like a spider in a bar of soap.
A stalactite hangs from his nose and chin
like an ice beard.
Art Garfunkel stops blasting for diamonds
and lifts his goggles.
'Oh Declan,' he chuckles,