One Morel

 

 

One morel thrust from a patch

of processed mulch on Grove Street.

What mushroom thinking fruited

beside this busy sidewalk where

the post office crosswalk tempts

pedestrians to risk their lives?

 

We’ve just collected our mail,

a trash of advertisements. You note

the mushroom’s grave immodesty

and demand that I photograph it

before some greedy dog eats it

with a clumsy tongue-dangling smile.

 

In the cloudy light its colors

perfect themselves. The angle

of its attack looks slightly awry,

but its motive seems clear enough.

We’ll email the photo to friends

who appreciate mushroom-thoughts

 

in autumn, when so much nature

seems in retreat. We’ve never

seen a morel downtown where

lawyers and realtors conspire

to bare the local landscapes

and build shabby houses for gain.

 

Maybe the planted river birch

nearby will shed enough leaves

to safely conceal this fungus

until it has finished spreading

spores unlikely to flourish

in this busy little downtown.

 

You hope the mushroom’s aware

that we wish it well. At least

we’ve captured its portrait, posed

in thick but flattering light,

looking as we hope we would look

deep in the grip of reason.