Factories

Once,
these
things
pulled
people
from the
commons.
Instead of breezes to breathe, men sucked the smoke
into their lungs, and bosses have become our kings.
Foul filth has replaced fresh air; as it is all puffed out,
through our sooty nostrils, so is it exhaled, all clouds

of black
to infect our
helpless sky.
These
cages,
owned
not by us,
the makers
of our goods,
keep us inside, where we are all paid prisoners’ wages.
Gone are the days when we could roam outside to see
soft blue above, with clouds of white instead of black.
Now, grey concrete has replaced the grassy greenery.

O, horror! Smoke
is floating, spreading
everywhere! Not in
our skies alone,
but also in
each
place
beyond
our land.
Countries
far from us,
contaminated
with this foul sickness, are making men and women
slave away in factories, breathing the noxious fumes.
Often, the doors are locked, so if a fire rages within,
the workers die a flaming doom, for bosses’ profits.

The ailing skies are
never blue, they’re only black
and grey. It’s always night above,
and never day. The air is poison!
These puffing pyramids of
power,
tombs
which
should
be for the
rich, not for
the working man,
will make a cemetery of the Earth. Afar, they look like mushroom clouds.
The world is dying. Greed is making graves. The green of cash supplants
the green of plants. The rule of gold has long replaced the golden rule.
End the reign of fire and stench! Mr. President, tear down these walls!