The Reanimation

Ectothermic humans
crank the thermostat northwards
at work, at their desks
where they live for eight hours-
the entire time of sunlight.

Skin, muscle, organs freeze
when I turn down the dial,
statues they become for torment
to pass the hours away to
nefarious acts to kill boredom.

Fist-sized hail pummels
the asphalt-tiled roof, holes
appear, when the sun sits
her brilliance, rays descend
to thaw these bodies raw.

Arise from chairs and desks
they finally can, to walk
in air unfiltered, and feel
natural light, without choice
because the electronics are destroyed.

--S. P. Flannery