The Cloud Factory

Smoke billows out

In thick dark tunnels.

My young cousins shout

This is the building

The building that makes clouds.

If i could reach

Far enough to touch

I’d find that in each

Only toxic fumes

Would reach my little hands

This grimy building

Not a single cloud in it

Just small plastic trinkets

To be used for a minute

Before being discarded

In the ocean

An island of filth

Toys, trash, and tidbits

Choking the creatures

I see in my picture books