Toxic

 

The air is thin and sour,

The breath is faint or forced:

The lungs possess no earthly power,

Words are mere exhaust.

 

Wind is filled with stink,

The breeze is clogged with grime:

Thoughts are like a kitchen sink

That’s filling up with slime.

 

Refugees aren’t fancied

By the lolling eye:

The airstream’s rough and rancid.

There is mildew in the sky.

 

Every day a movement

Towards a greater bad:

All notion of improvement

Is thought to be a fad.

 

Larded men and women

Pleat their breath with rot:

Nothing lifts us out of grim

Ineptitude; we’re shot.

 

We should stick together?

Inside these shrieking fogs?

Isolationeers in filthy weather

Send us to the dogs.

 

Boris, Donald, Jacob,

When we read your names,

The air seems toxic and we take up

Handcarts, head for flames.

 

 

 

 

21 June 2018

More than 4.5 million children in the UK are growing up in areas with toxic levels of air pollution, the UN children’s organisation Unicef has warned.


POETRY KIT WEBRING

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