In the poem below, I make an unwarranted connection between the bird deaths and the deaths of bumblebees. There is also a hint of a conspiracy theory and a suggestion that overpopulation and urbanization is somehow behind all of these deaths. Although I don't personally endorse that theory, I would also find it difficult to believe that these incidents have no human causes. My radical (or is it?) environmentalist side says that mass animal deaths nowadays can almost always be traced to some kind of negligent human action, probably by some large, avaricious corporation... but I only let that side of me speak through mediocre poetry, where ambiguity cloaks objectionable opinions.
And oh yeah, there have also been mass die-offs of sea-life recently, but I neglected to mention those, since they don't fit as neatly into the play upon the phrase used to explain sexual intercourse to a child.
The Birds and the Bees
Now, how can I explain this, Tommy?
When a bird daddy and bird mommy
Fly around at night,
They sometimes fly into a storm
Or someplace really, really warm
Flashing pretty lights.
Those fireworks make a lot of noise
And though they’re liked by girls and boys
Birds can’t stand the show,
And then they fly in a special way,
It’s super special, all the way
Down and down they go.
They land on streets, cars, you and me,
Some hop a little... But you see,
All natural enough.
Nothing to do with germ or flu
Or 'pest-ee-sides,' although it’s true
They spray lots of that stuff.
And this event has naught to do
With what a certain point of view
Says ‘bout bumblebees
That go around the pretty flowers
And some important crops of ours
Blowing in the breeze.
But since bee families have been fewer,
“Make do with what you can” gets truer
Do, the special way:
Bee brothers, their bee sisters land,
Bee parents with bee kiddies and
They all flew away.
A natural ‘pafgen’ caused these frets
As natural, really, as it gets
Like what man and wife
And all their children do in cities
That grow and grow (as do dumb ditties)
With all the corps and big committees
Who clear the trees to make more cities
Till all the world is filled and pretty.
‘Tis the facts.