Hummingbirds, of a morning, take air,
streak, mumbling curses, finding
too much to resent to mention.  The world
is still, watching...

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Was ist?  Was ist los?  Schnell! Schnell!
Vas ist los?

Herr Kapitan...

Wasssssssssss?

                                        Spitfire...

                                        merde!


They are
alone.
in the air, the only thing worth
mentioning, and the only thing to hear
their buzz;                             snobs.

Three of them took John, this morning;
did you see?  He was only three, and his tooth
brush left behind; did they even know
he was there?
                         busy busy busy busy...

What is this lump upon my prow?  Is it
Edible?  Is it
MINE?

                         It is the enemy
                         Colonel.

MMphm.  Screw him.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...



They come all the way
from Mexico, burdened with the need
to make the World safe for
buzzocracy, and Flowers
Belong, and that
is that.

Mind my beak, Old Chap, if you
don't mind...thank you
very much.


Hummingbirds of an evening
sit on air,
chatting to no one about
the day's
conquest.

Was that France or was it
maybe Belgium?

Ethiopia, Algy.  Do pay
attention.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

©  Copyright, 2000; Malcolm Beckett