Tainted Beauty

The news of spilled black oil, glossy and thick,

a shimmering threat masking the day’s gentle glow,

shadows play tricks in the aftermath,

a blue sky distorted, reflecting a sickly sheen—

each puddle in the street whispers its tale,

a sweet mirage that sullies our fragile view.

I walk past the slick that pools near the curb,

a child laughing somewhere, unaware,

and I can’t help but linger on what hides,

below the surface, in beauty’s cruel grip,

it clings like tar beneath our nails,

a reminder—what’s lovely may poison too.