MushVrooms
Our rollicking, frolicsome, Pollocky dream
She layers thinly, he is all Sakrete.
Each bared our own spirit, like woodland Pucks,
Through Weekend. And if we birthed no Magritte,
Yet we shared full joys, loves and laughing yucks
Under swaddling skies – for once not too humid:
A mid-summer play with nonstop undressing,
Wondrous meals, gardens, our Vrooman,
Then, as if to grade school art class, regressing.
A fungus flourishes with fertilizer
And dank (and how do buried talents sprout?).
Though the Muse worried we’d murderlize her,
With beret, face hair and Master Mike, out
came startling art. So cherish your special blue.
Till next year, when our friendships we all renew!
– YOS