Hummer
By Anne R.
The six rosettes
on the mason jar feeder
looked identical to me,
but apparently not
to the – I want to say
“persnickety” –
ruby-throated hummer
rounding the jar –
idling on air
before each one
until he found the one,
and uncoiling his tongue
sipped the blur
of his scintillant self
in the sugar water,
his turbo-charged wings
churning the leaves
of the potted plant below,
like freak gusts
in otherwise calm
weather — until suddenly
(incensed by my grin?)
he backed up
from the feeder
in that decisive way
a copter does,
zipped over
to hover inches
from my face, and
with a no-nonsense look,
cut me down
to size.
Anne is the birdlover who has hung a birdfeeder in the tree outside the meetinghouse’s front window.