Mushroom

A poem

Off with your head,
little chef's hat;
slide down into the olive oil,
swim with garlic kernels as hot liquid wakes you
from your black sleep.

Chopped, you multiply
like the dancing brooms in "Fantasia."
Tossed with artichokes in the pan,
your cap, a water-filled canteen
whose juices soften into a meaty center.
Sliced thin, topped with grated Parmesan,
your silhouetted umbrellas mix with white rain.

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...

Loading...

Save for later

Save
Cancel

Saved ( of items)

This item has been saved to read later from any device.
Access saved items through your user name at the top of the page.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You reached the limit of 20 saved items.
Please visit following link to manage you saved items.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You have already saved this item.

View Saved Items

OK