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