Pour Out The Clouds

My son gave me an idea for a poem (it’s below) and this graphic, but first some background).

Everyday on the way to his Kindergarten we see a smokestack in the distance. Last year we’d look at it and joke it was the factory that makes the clouds in our city (every city has their own). So yesterday I asked him as usual if it was making clouds. He must be tired of my jokes because he promptly said, “No, Daddy, there’s no such thing as a Cloud Factory!”

I disagree. Factories do make clouds, though not the ones he’s probably thinking of. I dedicate this to Mason … but mostly to China. Yes I realize this is a bit heavy handed :)

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This is the Place Where We Pour Out The Clouds
by Manny Jasus

This is the place where we pour out the clouds.
Where foreign inspectors are never allowed.
Producing the things you demand you're allowed,
So you can be happy, and stylish and proud.

Yes, this is the place where we pour out the clouds.
In blacks and in grays and in all shades of brown.
That hang over cities and float their way down,
Far from respectable people in towns.

We've hidden it nicely, our dirty extreme.
To look light and fluffy and made it to seem,
It belongs in the sky, but in truth it's a lie,
Engineered by our factory, spewing out grime.

This is the place where we pour out the clouds.
Making the things that will long stay around,
Oh, and we're also polluting the ground,
And the water, that too,
Wait … did I say that out loud?