Between the Clouds

In the air of the putrid morning
the smog crouches
behind the sky scrapers,
waiting to strike.
The early traffic is unaware,
eyes glazed, sucking starbucks
from their green straws.
Inside the walls of their cars they feel safe.
The smog eats exhaust.
I look down and soon all is white.
Above me, the marshmallows roll.
I reach out to taste it and imagine
the sticky sweetness on my tongue,
but it is too far away.
I feel safe like the people in their cars.