Mushroom People

I haven’t done much poetry in recent years, but every now and then the muse visits. This time the mushrooms brought her. I love these little guys. They’re popping up all over the path that I walk along at the college.  I stop and talk to them every morning. Some have told me their names. The other day I startled one of the professors who stumbled across us while we were conversing.

The monsoon coaxes the mushroom people above ground                                     Myopic and fumbling they push through the loam                                                           Most comfortable in shade and moist places                                                                     Their song is thunder                                                                                                                     Rain their dance                                                                                                                           Friend to earth worm and dying leaf                                                                                     Intimate with the darkness


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