I scoff when I hear ‘clean coal’ used,

As if it has never costs a single soul.

Maybe the industry is cleaner now,

But I do not understand how.

To find the lodes we have to dig,

Scrape out mountainsides

Or burrow deep down into earth.

The skies or the tunnels filled with haze.

Scars on the lungs leave their marks,

But as they hedge, the workers who stay,

Some find they can’t breathe day to day.

If black lung visits their door,

The harder it is to inhale evermore.

Until one day the scars or another disease wins,

So tell me how coal is clean again?

She swung her fists in the air,

Pretending to be a badass in fingerless gloves.

A moment of spunkiness and a smile,

Shhh…don’t tell anyone they’re therapeutic!

Back to the cavern from which she came,

The keyboard began to clack away,

And the mouse flew around the screen.

Just a little longer is what she needed,

The compression helped her get it done,

Then a little heat therapy to reduce the ache.

Wriggling her finger and massaging her limbs,

Finally relaxing and getting some relief!

Ahh, therein lies the rub. Probably with everything in life. Just a moment of reflection as I force myself to eat this last bite of lunch.

Last night, I headed to the store with a feeling of heaviness…so I opted for some “healthier” choices. I had eaten a Cuban for lunch and while it was good…it wasn’t necessarily good for me.

So I wandered into the produce area and faced a myriad of fresh salads with various vegetables, some with fruits and nuts, cheese and tempting dressing. I selected one of my favorites, a Caprese salad with mozzarella, tomatoes and balsamic dressing.

It sounded good at the time. Proud of myself for planning lunch ahead for once, I checked out and headed home.

This morning, I pulled out a bright pink insulated lunch tote and slid an ice pack inside. I stacked in the salad, a yogurt for a morning snack and some tzatziki sauce and chips for the afternoon. Two Sprite Zeros and I was set for the day.

The morning flew by and finally I get a moment for lunch. I pull out my salad. Lunch me frowns. I’m a different person at this moment, longing for a juicy cheeseburger with tomato, mayo, ketchup and mustard…really the basics.

But time and work demands prevail, so I open up this beautiful…insert eye roll here…salad. Healthy me is trying to soothe hungry me.

Begrudgingly, I pour the mozzarella and tomatoes onto the salad. I realize on of the tomatoes has a bad spot, so I pick it out and fling it into the trash. Take that, healthy me!

I pour over the dressing and smush up my lips. I try to convince myself…healthy me and hungry me start a barrage of excuses to each other.

I look at the time. Nope, hungry me can’t win this one. So I stab my fork into the greens and eat bite after bite between sips of my Zero.

…Maybe I’ll have a burger for dinner. Hungry me cheers! Healthy me rolls her eyes. …

Sweet little one, twirling in the aisle,

A pink leotard, white tights,

and bright pink ballet shoe covers,

Obviously headed off to class.

Mom did her hair up in the classic bun,

No glitter or glitz, just perfect for lessons.

Her little hand held on to her mom’s tight,

But she was ready to take flight.

A fleeting glance brings smiles to all who pass,

And per chance, a desire to dance.

Her normally wavy hair fell flat,

Drier weather causes that.

She didn’t really mind,

She wished for straight all the time.

It never was really voluminous even

But age and hormones turned it thin.

She wanted to grow it out like she had,

But thirty it worked, now she became sad.

Maybe it’s time to snip it short and sweet,

At least then it would be nice and neat.

The quiet is her refuge from the world,

But sometimes it becomes her nemesis.

She uses the time to dream and recharge,

But overdone it makes her a depressed recluse.

Seeking to find balance, she varies her attention

Work mainly is her social interaction,

And time with her mate and cats of course.

She tries to keep up with long time friends,

But now they are so far away,

And time eludes them all

from gathering these days.

So she loses herself in her dreams and fantasies,

The ones where she is bold and strong,

Or sexy and the focus of the one she really desires.

But now and again, she needs to face reality,

Clean the house and tackle the laundry too.

Finally she plans small get togethers,

Just one to three family or friends suit her best,

Yes, that is the perfect amount my dear.

And the depression lifts, her smile returns,

And she’s ready for life once more.

Thumbing through the pages,

Wondering what should I make.

It has been a while since I used this book,

Mostly because it usually means added pounds.

French Pastries and breads line the pages,

A dusting of sugar and flour line the pages.

Pate a choux calls my name, versatile and fun;

Eclairs and salambos, and cream puffs too.

Then there is the brioche, perfect rolls,

They will get their turn on Thanksgiving.

We are headed into the season of decadence

Now is the time to plan what to bake!

A flat awaits along a cobblestone path.

A wrought iron fence holding flowering baskets

Bring wide smiles to passerbys.

Heels clack up the cement steps

To a scarlet door framed by white columns

Topped by an arched window covered by iron work on top.

A Welcome sign swings from a pole,

Greeting visitors by day and night.

A brass knocker, bold and heavy,

Echoes the pounding from the guests.

Slowly, the aged hinges groan

As the heavy door opens.

A booming voice from behind bellows

“Welcome! Please come in!”

The aromas of tea and cakes waft in the air

Enticing all who knock to come inside.

A cherub faced woman waves to doily and lace covered tables,

“Please have a sit and enjoy!”

Cups and kettles, plates and trays all around.

And upon the patrons not a scowl to be found.

Scrumptious savories make the taste buds dance,

Then scones and cream calm and cleanses the palate,

And finally the sweets delight and satiate

Even the most hungry of those who imbibe.

Welcome to what I dream of as afternoon tea.