Insects on the Windscreen

There are fewer insects on the windscreen now.

They used to cover it, pancaked thick,

and the washer jets could never shift them,

we kept a scraper in the door.

When we were kids, driving to Blackpool,

our one week away in the feast week,

the wasps would sting, the insects would stick,

but now the glass is clean.

There are fewer babies born each year now.

We thought it would never stop,

but now we know the great boom’s over,

hurried to its end by the next war.

When we were young the families were large,

three, four, five or more,

each one a little gang ruling its own back yard,

but now they hunt for others to play with.

We almost built a paradise, at the cost of millions of souls.

We let it slip, we fouled the pitch,

the pull of greed and gold ran strong,

and insects or people, the damage is done.