Highfalutin Pollutants
The cloudless sky scarred with contrails
Like cicatrices on a slaves
Backside from numerous lashings.
Back and forth, this way and that way
Flying bombs travel overhead
Leaving in their wake, pollutants
In the form of anomalies:
Man-made, miasmal cirrus clouds.
Experts maintain they are harmless
Like our frosty breaths in winter.
Believe that, and I have a bridge
I want to sell you in Brooklyn.
Down on earth exhaust is called smog
Up there it’s called condensation?
Where does the Truth lie?
The answer: the clouds
in the form of acid rain.
Copyright © Albert Ahearn | Year Posted 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment