They cut up the world, cherishing the
paper-doll sentiment of folding and
snipping time zones, and hemispheres, and tropics.
But the earth evades a sliced,
diced, and quartered fate. For, we can calculate 24
hours on an abacus of a world, but we can never conquer it.
Zigzagging latitude and longitude, the boy
had a year without summer: here until June,
there and back again for another winter, perhaps.
A life of three seasons, a lopsided
reality despite the play-doh attempt to make
the earth ours.