Working in the Smoke
Brick, grit smeared towers,
crank-out smears for heavy smokers.
Under every stacked chimney
goblins belch, coughing up,
cancer into a riddled sky.
Workers wade through
ankle pulling tar,
grab at the soothing puffs,
as a smoldering sky glows
red
in every clouded yellow eye.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2024
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment