Gila Woodpecker — Image by kenne
Gila Woodpecker
That busy little thug,
black-and-white suit,
red cap like a bad idea—
he’s at it again,
beak punching neat holes
in my world.
The hummingbird feeder
wasn’t made for him,
but he doesn’t give a damn
about human intention.
Long tongue dips in,
sweet stolen fuel
for the day’s racket.
Call him nosey,
call him thief,
but look closer—
he’s just another desert anarchist,
making do in a place
that gives nothing easy.
And maybe I admire him for it,
this feathered outlaw
living by wit and boldness
reminding me that survival
is never polite.
— kenne
Thank you, Kenne, for the poem and the beautiful woodpecker inspiring your verses!
Joanna
I wouldn’t have recognised it it I didn’t see the name☺️. Camouflage.