The woodpeckers back
And he has grown bolder with his strikes.
All that pecking, pecking, pecking
Is raising havoc in my life
Such a nuisance to my scene,
He’s punching holes in eves and trim.
I hear his sound, my ears are throbbing,
But when I seek, it’s sudden-quiet.
I have a loaded BB-gun,
A deadly piston pellet slinger.
That lets me take a single shot,
Once I pump and pump and pump.
This knot hole challenger, this heap of feathers,
Keeps drilling his rustic wooden hole.
Outside I hear the tapping, tapping, tapping,
That is driving me insane.
In our back yard they have access to a dying cottonwood and a series of telephone poles to work on, but my sympathies! Perhaps some music with a lot of bass that the woodpecker might take exception to?
I have never heard a woodpecker, sounds anoying. Nice poem.