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The Ancient Tree Drummer
By Don Iannone

I hear him,
Making holes again,
Hollow places in dead trees.
He's very old, you know,
Prehistoric!
Pterodactyl-like, I think,
With his red crest
bobbing up and down.
He seems very proud,
Cocky, I'd say.
His drilling stops.
Oh, I hear him,
Odd cuk wucka sounds.
She makes him wait.
I know he's listening for her.
Finally she returns his call,
His pecking resumes.
Strange fellow,
that pileated woodpecker.
Feasting on ants and beetles,
Deep in the old forest,
where there is plenty of dead wood.
The hollow tree is his drum, you know,
He plays a driving beat,
Latin rock, I think.
He's ancient, you know.
I hope I see him.

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