At least two packs a day,
Smoking my troubles away.
But I don’t have a lighter,
Its okay, there’s a trash fire!
Bought a mask to stop it,
So small it’ll fit in my pocket ,
Dust shutting my throat like a locket.
I take a second to freeze.
I miss the smell of trees,
and the soft buzz of bees.
All this does not seem fair,
all I want is just some clean air!
I wish Patan was as clean as Boulder,
or at least a little bit colder.
I’d even rather have fog,
than be forced to look at dead dogs.
This place has given me quite the scare,
Hence my ode, to clean air.
(PS. Mom not actually smoking)