Gazzillions of particles hang in the air
which I may not select to respire.
I’m obliged to suck-in every dust-mote and stink-bomb
regardless of what I desire.
“Where on earth has that been?” I think to myself
as some toxin slides down past my throat.
I can’t block its path ‘cos it’s well on its way
tho’ my breathing continues, I note.
Whiffy-dump-trucks and smelly-sludge-ponds…
…my nose feeds my lungs an array
of pre-used concoctions of various taints
which waft through my nostrils all day.
I believe, by the seaside, the air’s full of ozone
which is healthful and cleansing, they say.
But my blood’s running thick with unwholesome deposits
which fraternize – in their own way.