Swollen mushrooms, white caps
are sliced murderously by a swinging, errant cleaver. The butcher
is angry again, fought with his wife again, was mocked
by a gaggle of rowdy kids, street urchins
all laughing, skinny, basted
with greasy dust.
Caps severed, gills fly
helplessly in the wake of slamming steel, spores
drifting voiceless through
the sterile vacuum
of the butcher's stolid kitchen.
September 14, 2012