The Bully Bird
He doesn't hum like the others,
just stays there at his post,
watching his feeder, waiting for the chance
to swoop again upon another
nectar-thirsty bird who dares
to flutter a wing in the wrong direction.
In territorial defense
he's fast and taught me
one quick lesson centered on
the art of greed, and that is
patience.
Hour by hour he sits there,
letting all the little bugs stay free
of his voracious beak, for he
has found new enemies
in the feathers of his friends;
he has become a hard-beaked
aviary proboscis on prowl--
a god in miniature, minding not
his storehouse of benevolence,
in very short supply!
We've bullies of our own in humandom.
We need to use our intellect
with those, so why must we deny
these tiny hovercraft
a bit of education too.
They are not invincible; we'll just
remove the prize a week or two.
Our bully bird and all his erstwhile
friends will have to fly off
down the line to take on other bullies,
other hanging fonts or even
frontier flowers awaiting them.
But that is really too bizarre,
and steals my delight as well.
My feeder will come back at length
from its forced cupboard exile.
Then I, too, will perch once more
upon my observation post
to cheer the little fellows on.
The bully? If he returns,
let's hope he's kept his buddies,
leaner, learns to celebrate them all
up and down the bar.
~
Copyright © Robert Ludden | Year Posted 2014
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