Out of sync... I think

Waiting for the seasons
is a lost art

We condition our interiors,
as if it just ought

For those who like it cool,
winter all round

They import pumpkins, mushrooms and strawberries,
grown on foreign ground

The summer fans
might have to take a vac

or they could just on the heater
and order Hawaiian pizza

And then there are the shift workers,
whose eyes must stay awake

We've lost the sense of rhythm:
our union with the earth

We live in a delusion
from the moment of our birth

As if it were natural
to feed off trucks and ships

and devour what we want
when we want it;

all at our fingertips