To a hummingbird warrior

 

To a hummingbird warrior

Sparkling you hover,
staring into my eyes. You intimidate
with har-oom of wings.

This coffee my only nectar
with a squirt of canned whipped pseudo-cream
which embarrasses me, my love of fluffy crap
while you, tiny bird, need glucose to survive.

A man with weed whacker
clears a drainage ditch by the road,
works nearer, nearer whining like a
giant mosquito in a cloud of gasoline fumes,
nearer wearing bug-eye goggles,
bright orange ear guards,
nearer bright yellow safety vest
like a toxic flower.

Zip a green bullet you fly.
You poke his face. A gloved hand swats.
Winged syringe, you stab his neck.
He lifts weed whacker as an ungainly club
swinging mortal combat to your fragile bones
but the cutting string slaps his leg.
Startled he drops the machine and—
Zip you fly toward our rose garden.

Har-oom har-oom.
May my coffee be so sweet,
my life so pure, so tiny brave.

…..

First published in Sheila-Na-Gig. Thank you editor Hayley Mitchell Haugen.
Painting by Katie Col