The Carbonator.

The Carbonator

He bends low
To pick the mitumba shoes below
Mindless of the fumes that blow
Massively from his well
Like bats from hell
From the carbonator

You’d be put into thought
Or just had to assume that
He’d bats in the belfry
Cynicism you had to try
Nevertheless, his lungs made their cry
I tend to think their tear cavity run dry
Leaving all under the rhythm of dirges
All because of the carbonator!

He stands back up to the tallness of the roof
Smuggles in another puff
Of tar, carbon dioxide
And tracts had to divide
To let across
The cargo that bears loss
Into he carbonator!

The chimneys of the factory
Themselves told the story
Through them came out all sorts
Of fumes, of dust, of cirrhosis’s
To mention but a few the demise
Into the expansive atmosphere
This would lead into despair
Oh! The carbonator!

With the new shoe pair
He sat onto one case of the stair
Giving through his eyes a visionless glare
The ozone had been damaged
Its cavity as dry and departed
By the fumes of life
Replaced by cirrhosis, cancer and the like
Oh! The carbonator!

His dirge was sung unrhythmically
You have a chance, really!
to avoid cutting off the rhythm to your dirge
Through the puff insurge
Just like the carbonator