The Air

Haoran Zhu, Guest Artist

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Waking up on a Saturday morning,

I stretched my arms, yawning.

My phone popped a notification

The PM 2.5 was in high concentration.

I crawled to the dusty window;

The summer sun was swallowed.

Oxygen breathed extraordinarily heavy,

And sleek skyscrapers seemed invisibly dusky.

I want to exercise with my friends,

But the smoke stack never ends.

I want to take a walk with my family,

But the blue sky leaves me agony.

I often wonder why,

The government doesn’t try.

Millions of people wear masks,

Why don’t leaders set out tasks?

Staring at the uninhabitable city,

I say, “What a pity!”

I want to feel the fresh air,

Not the dirt in my hair.

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