Sport 43: 2015
Mushroom clouds are what we pick mushrooms under.
It’s not stealing if it’s between lightning and thunder.
The rain starts its hill to seaside sidle.
There’s time still for a minute’s plunder.
The sea is a storm. The sky is tidal.
The gutters hold familiar idols.
The day is closing up on us.
Our bag is full. We’ve not been idle.
You’ve forgotten where your haunted house is.
I don’t know the words to ‘I am the Walrus’.
You don’t know when my train is leaving.
I don’t know which is the edible fungus.
We like mushrooms best when they taste of thieving.
At home we turn the Beatles up to eleven.
This bag of mushrooms was not a given.
We don’t like Kevin but we both like ‘Kevin’.