Smoke

All that I reported was a little bit distorted,
We had known about the plants and we had seen how they consorted,
But unlike many other plans theirs was not aborted,

The stacks went up,
And the fires erupt,
The smoke comes up,
And the air is corrupt,
The people come up,
And society is dumped,

On this once beautiful place,
In our little space,
But with all this smoke and money,
we feel the disgrace

Poetry Slam: 

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