On Generations

My dad worked in a coal mine for some time. He took me to work one day when I was a boy. I passed massive stalks billowing smoke, periodic loud noise from thumping machines, whirring conveyor belts carrying coal chunks, dust, stink and debris everywhere. I probably walked out with a piece of coal in my pocket and dirty hands.

Now when I take my daughter to work, I show her grey floors, neutral color walls, copier machines, and flat screens. The only thing that sputters, spits out hot water and steam, and makes noise is the Cappucino machine. She leaves clutching markers.  I hope in 20+ years she can find poetic words to think of her visit to her dad's office.