Poem

A Sense of the Decorous among Hummingbirds

An armada of silver cholla, like the sea encited
was mysteriously beckoning
almost, to some of us. The harps
like swans prepared for battle, the denisons
of the great encounters, sisterous & bebibbed.

That sort of epiphany can be treacherous.
What, though are the birds doing in there?
They, like the lizards
seem unerring in a split second
sense of decorum, or technical knowledge. The sheer
drapes are flighty and cascading out in flagrant
misreading of the climate. A common occurrence
among the bewildered, a moment smaller than before.

So, hummingbirds retain
their good manners no matter what, the little
gyroscopes in love with red tablecloths,
and t shirts as such, misred as honey,
cantankerous, spicy and langoured,

a certain lack of concern, a demagogic
appeal to the ones who can’t fly, decoupaged.
Which might be flattening if it wasn’t
so rancorous a craft, the lunar inner tube is
fattening the flies up with phosphorescence.