Dedicated to Amanda Salvador
You should meet my hummingbird,
He is aggressive and therefore alone?
He will not perch on my hand
Because he knows I think he is delicate,
A pushover, which is an entirely different bird.
But he runs his beak through other birds all the while each week the water is wasted.
There is more than enough for them.
Why was it one day, there were seven of them together drinking on the feeder, and otherwise it is just him?
And why do I assume it is a “he”?
It could be a woman.
The women I know are violent, vindictive, and opportunistic.
Each thinks I am a pushover.
Instead, I am a Titmouse, and in a mirror I am constantly thrashing my head against the glass,
To the point that blood comes from my beak and I have a headache.
Neither do I hear the woman, who loved me.
She could not stand the futility of my life.
I am still looking for the mirror its owner removed to protect me.
Each season I return to find it.
The owner has put two large ones on either side of the balcony so I must choose, which one in which to operate, but it is too difficult to be in two places at once.
Luckily, there is a limit to my vanity, and I am older now.
Instead, I fly in circles and have learned to sing.
I am singing to find love, but like I said, I am older. The sound doesn’t even attract predators. They sense something is wrong.