Grasping

Your arms stretched upwards,
fingers extended,
grasping at clouds,
grasping at drops,
grasping at...
just grasping

at your naked shoulders,
spinning and spinning in
the downpour, drenching
my white shirt proclaiming
YOUR VOTE IS
YOUR VOICE
becoming less and less
opaque by the second.

Then down
hit the ground
and under the spouts spouting
God knows what.

(Government knows)
only they don't tell us
instead they sell us
little snippets of their
lies through their teeth
where their smiles don't
reach their eyes...

sighs as the mud splashes,
jeans made heavy by the
acidic H2O fall down around that
place where the
thigh meets the hip.
The bottoms drag around
my heels so I trip and
stumble all the way back

then, back when the
coal was just convenience for
unknowing souls whose skies were
always thick with black
smoke. When even the early-
budding scientists whose
descendents would be those to
testify against it didn't give a
second though to the
brooding smoke breaking through our
protective layers so high
up we can't reach them with out

grasping fingers.