by Michael Ceraolo
A few clouds are laid out against
a rare sunny December sky
as we breathe in, you and I,
the exhaust from the stack at the power plant,
the same plant the power company,
in a fit of pique,
threatened to close earlier this year
rather than be compelled to clean it up
No wonder
The air tastes like this.
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A beautiful poem with a poignant message about the power of a power plant to persist polluting Mother Earth and her people. I would love to taste fresh air again. The poet made me remember that taste.
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