My wife nurses our son on the couch
so she can see the hummingbird feeder
through the sliding glass door to the balcony.

Every few minutes, a shimmer of them 
arrives in a group to flit and hover
about the red plastic tray of nectar.

Not realizing there’s room for more than one,
they brawl in midair - beaks like rapiers
clack with a shockingly audible din. 

She can’t resist a soft, delighted laugh
as our baby calmly drinks from her breast
while this iridescent skirmish goes on:

a dazzling, miniature fireworks display
with sudden flashes of green and fuchsia
right outside the living room where she sits.

These tiny expert fliers battle 
for a chance to lap up sweet nourishment
then zoom away, returning to their chicks
nestled in high branches of trees nearby.