Observations of a City Strangled
The blanket of smoke settles heavily upon the City
Like a pillow smothering a Loved One,
Not out of Compassion
But out of Spite.
The Emerald City is muted with stifled hues
While the sun burns blood-orange through the jaundiced haze.
The streets are quietened.
Pallid-faced commuters on their way home
Speak with hushed tones
Over the hum of traffic and wails of distant sirens.
Even the Christmas parties are subdued.
The well-heeled, black tied, stiletto stuttering fashionable set
Retire early,
Parting ways with dubious apologies and gritted, sweating smiles.
Passers-by throw each other furtive glances through stinging eyes.
Behind the masks there is a mutual admission.
A secret, suffocating, guilty shame.
Ash begins to fall,
Fluttering down like the season’s first snow.
A charcoaled Christmas that has come too soon.
People look wide-eyed
To the sky
Open mouthed and breathless.
Hands tighten.
This is a City Strangled
Not by Smoke,
But by a grim, determined denialism.
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