poetry by j matthew waters

Cloud Factory

Plumes of smoke
escape the stacks,
entering the atmosphere
as chemical clouds:
a byproduct from the distillation
of corn and wheat
grown on American farms
and hauled to the factory,
producing foodstuffs
to feed millions wordwide.

Protesters outside
carry messages on sticks,
crying for change
and attention from a media
hungry for something new.
Meanwhile, the factory
continues to cook,
spending millions
on special interests
and scrubbing their clouds.

december, two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

iphoneography by Arthur Weaver

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