I dedicate this poem to the memory of naturalist extraordinaire, my cousin Jeff Shryer, who would've understood that I am mourning his loss and the loss of a time when there was more nature.
I long for dirty windshields
The kind so common not so long ago
All splattered
And scattered
with delicate wings of dragonflies
And insects of all kinds
Smeared into a mushy mess by my wiper’s attempts
To clear my driver’s view
After a day’s drive in the country
That is no more.
I long for squishy, greasy streets
Of mayfly hatches and frog migrations
Causing cars to swerve
And drivers to curse.
I was always sad to see so many
fabulous creatures who died because of me but
Their ancient magnificence
Was better off
When I had to scrape their innocent bodies
Off my windshields and tires
For that would mean they were still
Here in the kind of volume nature needs
Now I save money on carwashes
And mourn the loss of their collective beauty
And contemplate what it means to live in a more
sterile world without dirty windshields and greasy streets.