Pylons Are Perches

I would ask, if only on my deathbed
For a day where all the power is gone,
No transatlantic streaks across the sky,
All the roads without a single car on.
Our feet and hands given old purpose.
Only yachts can chase down the whales.
Each computer a cumbersome paperweight,
Just one day without the spam mails.

We would hear, perhaps, nature's heart beating.
Taken aback by the removal of her gag.
We'd be rapt by a hush releasing hidden voices,
The rush and flap of each tree, banner, and flag.
I doubt mankind would hold high regard
For a night sky so beautifully starred.
To be kept from TV, net and microwave,
From piped hot water, from the credit card.

What I ask for would perhaps cause anarchy,
But you never notice the power 'til it's gone.
It's easy to take this all for granted,
When we consume with such reckless abandon.
Just one day to see the world as birds do.
We could perch on the pylons in flocks,
And hand-wash our clothes in the river.
Though the fish would be killed by my socks.