that flawless diptych of minimalism
simplistic architectural precision
a colossal condiment set
an arresting landmark
once commanding respect
the sentry gateway 
guarding the trodden ceremonial
pulverised-fuel-ashed path
to Westwood’s curious
and unnatural landscape

those impeccable twins who were
Wigan’s Colossi of Memnon
were sadly and rarely respected
seldom treasured
their utilitarian days long forgotten

the twins silently fed us
invisibly assisting
in fuelling our town
with precious energy
to satisfy our whims
and necessities  
then finally they sat in silence
in anticipation of agreeable retreat
and hushed solitude...

but alas convicted without trial

the cock crowed 
to herald the dawn
of the fateful day
the morning of mass voyeurism
when the multitudes assembled
with unsettling enthusiasm
jockeying for position
some with optimum seating
some with whips  
others happy to spy from afar
with binoculars 
like peeping toms
ignorant of heritage
viewing with outlandish naivety 
oddly amused
exchanging mocking chit-chat

finally those identical twins tumbled
thankfully death was swift
and in those death throes 
smoke signals spoke prose
as the initial horizontal gust 
asked for help
and that final lofty plume 
in desperation
begged that we remember

sadly most were reluctant 
to allow that last request
while only scant 
sincere tears followed
and with nauseating cheers 
they wallowed
fascinated by death
and the twins’ final breath