The burr of a Black Hawk helicopter in miniature

announces his arrival at the feeder, and perched

on the slender rim he slips the needle of his beak

into the metal flower and downs the hummingbird

equivalent of a pint like one of the boys at the local.

He’s fancy and he knows it, a jewel gleaming in the

morning sun, yet pugnacious as he is petite, and

should the thirsty neighbor fly near for a sip he’ll

streak like a dart to the target giving it down country

with the bullying beat of his wings.

Isn’t it curious that in creatures so lovely and small

there hammer such flagrantly inhospitable hearts?

Perhaps the expulsion from Eden was carried out by

a hummingbird when Eve sought forbidden nectar,

or maybe Darwin is right: survival belongs to the flittest.

©Dana Hughes 9.21.17