Pleading for Air

I started this poem a couple weeks ago but forgot about it until this morning. It's in reference to our amazingly brutal ice storm of a few weeks back.

I know everybody has the tendency to burn brush when they have to get rid of it. After all--it's free and you don't have to haul it.  The trouble is, when 1 out of 3 households are doing it at the same time, that's a lot of burning, a lot of smoke, and a lot of stink.  When the weather prevents it from dissipating, it's even worse.

This poem is for the pyromaniac lawn & garden fanatics out there.

Pleading for Air 
The freezing rain that fell that night
broke trees and branches with its might. 
Then people piled and burned the stuff
that fell when trees had had enough. 
The pungent, bluish smokey haze
goes not, but rather, here it stays.
Instead of hauling it away
they opted to burn fires all day.
Sure, nature's way of pruning a tree
isn't everyone's cup of tea,
but I wish that folks would think of those
that have bad lungs or sensitive nose.
Our eyes burn hot when we're outside
in neighborhoods where we reside. 
Come on people, stop burning crap
that's still full green and filled with sap.
Rick Williams