Burning Butts

A cigarette burns

in a supermarket bin,

releasing a pungent

chemical cocktail cloud

that engulfs my path

sticking to my hair, clothes and lungs.

 

 

The bush burns

leaving trees silhouetted

against a sunburnt sky.

 

 

Ash drifts,

delicate pieces

skimming across my windscreen,

disintegrating with each breath of wind.

 

 

A city burns

toxic streets suffocate

in hate, blood and flames,

clouded by self-absorbed cowards

releasing pungent smells of woe is me

to a world with a peg on its nose

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9 thoughts on “Burning Butts

  1. I prefer my own personal scent-repelling bubble, permeated only by aromas pre-approved by my brain. Some examples of which are… fruit pies, forest floor in spring, autumn beach, winter rain and champagne.

    Wonderful metaphors in your poem.

    Nice to meet you via dVerse.

  2. “clouded by self-absorbed cowards” couldn’t have said it better. Wonderful write, amazing how much of this crap there is out there. Just don’t let anyone burn my little rhyming butt..haha

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