Focused on the Locust

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The locust has no manners
and it needs no invitation;
it settles down to dinner
with no thought of moderation.
Everything is fodder
for its greedy appetite,
from the buttons on your jacket
to the string that flies your kite.
Their numbers are enormous
and counting them is vain
as standing in a cloudburst
keeping track of drops of rain.
Nothing known can stop them;
even clouds of DDT
are just an appetizer
for their masticating spree.
I don't know what their purpose is
upon our planet fair.
In that they're like an in-law,
leaving all behind them bare.
I'd rather have the locust swarm
than in-laws any day.
At least the locust will pass on,
while in-laws just might stay!

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