The air in Beijing proper is much thicker than a chowder;
it causes little children to cough louder and still louder.
It contains particulates like PM Two-Point-Five,
which does not help the populace to keep themselves alive.
When the wind is idle all the coal smoke hunkers down,
corroding all the buildings, painting lungs a deep rich brown.
Even sooty Pluto from his underworld chateau
would find that living in Beijing was too much grimy woe.
Who's selling them that awful coal that burns with sulfurous stench?
It ain't the British, Russians, Swedes -- not even greedy French.
Just ask around Montana, at the Powder River Basin --
they will answer cheerfully, as the boxcars hasten
to transport coal to busy ports where it will sail away
to give Beijing another smoky, chokey winter day.
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