The day belonged to the patrols
and informants posing as early morning roosters,
but the night was ours, distorted
guitars bursting through cheap speakers,
we were hummingbirds barely out of our cages,
fearing to be arrested for the unlicensed nectar in our beaks,
aware we’d be almost safe if we kept
our humming to a minimum.
I love this poem. It’s brevity mimicking the short visits of hummingbirds (that hummingbird line is golden!).