Smoggy Evening Poem by C Richard Miles

As winter's chill grew rawer and rawer
That Thursday evening, after four,
Cold-fingered fog fell lower and lower.

It grasped, with grey claws, hour by hour,
The fading light, that lost its power,
And masked the old Post Office tower.

The looming pillar faded, faint
Above the rooftops' slate-grey paint
As if beheaded, queerly quaint.

Its lopped-off lights, diminished, joined
The shining sign of Centrepoint
Which cloud had craftily purloined.

Environmental terrorist:
Polluted sky, hard to resist,
Dimmed day, dark clothed in murk and mist.

Sour smog, fume fuelled as traffic passed,
Breathed black, and seemed that it would last
As long as London's millions massed.

This acrid air will harry them
As coughing cars hack petrol phlegm
That seems impossible to stem.

Although pea-soupers long have gone
Still London's smog will carry on
Till our emission's next to none.

So dull dour drab will rule the day
The city's skyline grizzled grey
Until pollution's done away.

And then foul fog will disappear
Though winter's air, calm, cold and clear,
Will still bring mist which none will fear.