Written by Bartholomew Barker
A lone mushroom, grown in the dark,
thinks of his fellow fungi as enemies,
turns toadstool, buys an assault rifle
to assassinate the rest of the ring.
A fairy arises from the ground,
wearing a dress of last year’s
still-scarlet leaves and wild flowers
growing in her hair. She chides
his selfishness, his self-delusion.
Even though he can’t see into the soil,
he’s still a member of the mycelium.
But the lone mushroom won’t listen.
He’s a rugged individual who’s entitled
to all the nutrients fed to him from below.
Text © Bartholomew Barker
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Thank you again for publishing my three poems these past three weeks.