On a separate note
Where do mushrooms come from?
Seriously have you ever sat there, like I did today, eating mushrooms at home or in a restaurant or for other, trippier reasons and thought of the amount of people who must have died or gone through some kind of horrific bout of illness just so you can sit there in your high chair with your silver forks and spoons and arrogant thoughts of healthy eating carelessly laughing your way through a tasty meal? Back in the day where you couldn’t just ‘run some tests’ and find out what’s what, can you imagine the amount of people who must have thought ‘well that one is definitely new to me it looks ok i reckon why don’t you give it a bite Bob maybe we’ll bring some home to ma and oh your dead’… Think of the good men we’ve lost on the field to give you that sweet taste of freedo - I mean -mushroom…
On a sunny day, in the months of may,
a farmer was hard at work.
An honest man with his family ran
the greatest farm in the land.
A local came by with gold in his pocket,
and bought from the peasant all his goods.
So good old him he took some gin
to celebrate out in the woods.
There he wandered for hours on end
talking to all the trees.
When suddenly, with the hint of a spark,
he dropped down to his knees.
What is it he thought, so shiny and grey
and so soft to the touch of my hand.
Picked it he did and smelt it with envy
but he still couldn’t understand.
Closer he held it and tighter too,
squeezing from it shiny dew.
And with one swift flick, possessed by the trick,
his mouth was clasping it too.
Surreptitiously smooth, a velvety crunch
His hands were reaching for more.
This will serve lunch, and food for a month
which my family are bound to adore.
So off he set home, like Caesar to Rome,
Happy as a man could be.
His family waited that very same night,
but he never came through the door.
He died in the forest,
his face to the light,
the Mushrooms sprawled out on the floor.
