The Good Old Days

It would take a flight of fancy
to parachute me back to the days
when power meant steam
and strawberries were seasonal,
when colours were primary
and pure as smiles
in everyday brightness.
When landings were soft,
music unplugged and
comic books made of paper.
But those days always needed
a flight of fancy,
they were always an illusion,
a torn page from a comic book.