“Who are you?” I yelled at a woodpecker pecking a bedroom nest in my one-bedroom apartment. “Are you Alder?” the woodpecker chatters back. “Yes. This is my Oakland apartment.” “Well I just hammered a hole in your landlord’s cerebellum. Now I’m on the lease. We’re roommates.” “W-what?” “Haven’t you noticed every Oakland tree is at full occupancy with the belted kingfishers and brewer’s blackbirds and night herons.” “I don’t look at the world. I just post on Twitter.” “Figures.” “Where did you live before?” “Oh in a glorious oak trunk at 17th & Broadway, but yesterday a northern flicker pushed me out.” “I believe I saw him once at Lake Merritt slap a child with his stiff feathers.” “I’m not surprised.” “But you can’t find another spot to live?” “Please Alder. I had a downtown pad with a lake view.” “This is my bedroom! What if my girlfriend sleeps over?” “My head rotates 180° degrees. I’ll turn. I expect that you will do the same when I bring over a mate.” “So you’ll help with the $2000-a-month rent?” “I have feathers and droppings.” “I’ll take your droppings. Our landlord won’t know the difference.”

Published in Oakland, I’m Not Dead (The Pedestrian Press, 2020)