Here's a poem that I must dedicate to the city of Ajo.
It's called "Inversion," although it did take place
here, and where I was.
I hear the story about Ajo is, the governor came down
to inspect complaints from the school,
that they were being smothered underneath the smelter
smokestack, which is really about
200 yards from the school.
And the day he got there was a nice windy
day, with an updraft.
And so it was just perfect.
But the day the day I was there, it
was so bad that when you were outside you couldn't talk.
You had to go inside the air conditioner
and drink some water, before your throat was anywhere
near a position to make sounds.
Just SO2.
Anyway, "Inversion".
I wish to leave a note, a broken bottle,
in the prison, a star ghost for posterity,
should the individual presume.
Tonight, 30 miles from any place,
given the power of copper syndicates,
the odor of sulfur dioxide was so strong,
it was impossible to take that one last breath.