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The air is sour,

it’s stinging their eyes.

Unsightly hour;

something’s not right

Water’s pink and thick,

closing their throats

Wood's feeling sick.

Now it ignites

Children are sprawled

on the lawns.

Skin is sloughing

off their arms.

Mother’s turn away;

fathers pray.

What comes from the creek?

There is no time to think.

Plumes of acrid smoke

filling the sky.

As they choke,

still, you can hear their cries.

Woods evaporated

leaving scars in the ruins.

Shadows hanging over

as heavy as the fumes.

Children are sprawled

on the lawns.

Skin is sloughing

off their arms.

It’ll never be the same,

no animals play.

What’s left of the creek?

Everything is dead.