Hummingbirds at the Feeder in August by Gary Grossman

The dwarf flyers dogfight,
Emerald backs edging
To buff, figure eights and
Double barrel rolls,
All for a refueling perch
 
On the tanks of pink sugar
Water provided by the
Scarlet and yellow petalled
Falsehoods hanging from our
Small grey-green side porch. The
 
Birds rage over these ten square
Feet, like Liston or Ali,
Who floated like a butterfly
But couldn’t hover like aHummer.
Backstroking, they

Float, folding the air into
Neat sheet-like stacks, blackened
Tails flared in anger and
Accusation. They surge back
And forth like an erratic

Feathered pendulum till
One jet cedes the air but
Two more shoot from holly
Twigs, a tornado of
Enraged plumage, jade

Cream and onyx, resembling
Nothing so much as a
Perpetual motion
Machine composed of wings
Feet and bills. I slowly

Crack the kitchen/porch
Door, avoiding impalement
By the mini-jet roosting
In my neighbor’s magnolia.
So far, just near misses,

Jet wash brushing my face, I
Jerk backwards, a human slinky.
The birds are irate sentinels,
Chiding all who near their
Liquid hoard. Tssst, tssst, tssst.

The sun arcs southwards and
Instinct rises. Tank up
For Belize, 26,300,000
Body lengths away, then
Back again, when dogwoods

Bloom and April’s leafy
Smells entreat. The feeder
Will be up, runway lights
Glowing green. All systems
Go.

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Gary is a Professor of Fisheries at the University of Georgia, whose poetry has appeared in numerous poetry reviews including Verse-Virtual. For 10 years Gary wrote the “Ask Dr. Trout” column for American Angler Magazine. Hobbies include running, fishing, gardening and cooking. Bio and writing at garygrossman.net and https://garydavidgrossman.medium.com/ respectively.