survival of the fittest

From this week's Poetry asides prompt to write from the perspective of a member of a group.

I'm the smallest bird of the bunch at the bird feeder,
so I get pushed around a lot.
Fat pigeons flutter their wings in my face but
I hold on to the edge with my sharp beak,
head bopping as the feeder swings in the breeze.

Mostly, I get the tiny pieces stuck
in the feeder's wire base,
but I survive just fine.
Small birds are tough:
we are quickest to fly
to the next feeder
on the
block.