by Julia Griffin

“She’s an icon.
She’s a legend.
And she is the moment”
—US Department of Energy describing coal

After Charles Aznavour

She may be the face I have to hack,
Though now I can’t unbend my back,
May be my wages or what leaves me on a bier;
She may be old Hades’ dusty flower,
May be our only source of power
Now that the Green New Deal’s gone sour
In not much more than half a year.

She may be the legend or the lie,
May be the icon or black eye,
May turn the landscape to a crater or a heap;
She may be the wind that turns grass grey,
The one who beats the EPA;
She may not be what admen say
To earn their keep.

She who cannot be left peaceful in her crypt,
Whose fans are always wild to have her stripped—
No one can fail to see what they discard;
She may be the darling of the DOE
(Whose members don’t contract COPD),
And all the lobbyists who work so hard;

She may be the cause my breath comes thick,
The why and wherefore I’m so sick,
The one who blocks my windpipe like a slimy bung;
Me, I’ll wear her colors in each lung,
And not be scared of dying young,
So on my grave write “RIP:
The reason for my death is she.”