Primordial insects, an eye on their phones,
Were safe for they'd multiple eyelets to track
Positions and where they were going. Their drones,
Their workers and queens would refrain from the slack
And empty obsession with screens that can wrack,
Creating a danger when flying about.
But still, they collided, a clattering stack
Encrusted in amber from stinger to snout.

Technology wasn't inscribed in their bones—
As insects, they didn't possess them. But back
In time immemorial, starting with stones
Through millions of eons, they learned how to hack,
Constructing from silicon such bric-a-brac
That moderns would recognize, point at, and shout.
Tectonics subsumed it, but bodies don't crack,
Encrusted in amber from stinger to snout.

A civilization that stretches and hones
Material culture is prone to attack
By earthquakes and weather. Advancement postpones
Destruction but doesn't inhibit a sack:
Exploding volcanoes deliver a whack.
Predictable? Yes, but avoidance is out.
The best you can hope for is seeing your pack
Encrusted in amber from stinger to snout.

Perhaps I exaggerate. Surely the lack
Of evidence indicates something. I doubt
That bugs had computers. I'm clearly a quack,
Encrusted in amber from stinger to snout.