I Hear Him Knocking

I hear him knocking. No matter. I will not let him in. The tree exploding with sound - better that it’s not my siding. The cluckity…clucking, I don’t mind, as long as the woodpecker stays off the periphery. His sound inviting, but he’s not invited in. His sharp beak, hacking away. His bright, red head endlessly bobbing. This is no bobbing for apples. Chisel…chisel…chop…chop. I can take the noise as long as he doesn’t exploit his choice. For he confers with the squirrels to burrow into my Winter walls. They’ve been fixed. Don’t be up to your nasty tricks, your antics or you’ll be in a fix. Thank you, for now….wait! What!? Suddenly and expectantly, with sudden urgency, like the drilling for oil, the cruel headbanger searching for gold…fool’s gold. The shining objects, with owl shapes, can only deter to a point. Smart critter listens for the creak of the front door. He’ll fly away, then circle back and drill some more. I love the fall, but not the fowl feathers…