Urban smog has its eye on you. It snaps a photo. Records your face. Your smile. Your innocence. It chuckles with never-ending glee. One day — one day soon — you will be trapped.
Smog weaves its spell over those who cannot move. It shimmers in the distance, but it hides up close.
It lurks everywhere.
Look around as you walk home from the gym, fresh glow radiating from your face and flexed muscles lining your calf. Peek under the park bench. Glance up at that street sign. Inspect the soot on the willow leaves.
Smog is ready to pounce. Unlike the boogie man, it’s not a legend.
Copyright © 2015 by Emily Clayton
Originally appeared on Micro Bookends: