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Pileated
by Jeannie E. Roberts

Past the cast iron pump,
two Adirondack backs,
dappled with droppings,
lean toward the lawn,
and near the woodpile,
a stump, mottled with moss,
rots, and beside
the bergamot blossoms,
next to the path that leads
to the field by the slip
of water where
the bullfrog croaks,
a woodpecker strikes
his chisel-like bill
into an oak. And
as he hammers,
his red crest quivers
for this dead tree
delivers what he likes
most: carpenter ants
and soft yielding
beetle larvae.


 

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