One more poem. A happier note, this time. I wrote this waiting for possibly the most delicious mushrooms I've ever eaten. Unfortunately, and ironically, this time, eating them essentially by themselves, I felt a little ill afterwards. But, the poem still stands.
dinner at Albatross
these mushrooms...
I'd fly back to Paros for these mushrooms.
Rich, like homemade risotto,
stretched to fill endlessly numerous
smiling,
happy bellies.
Spicy as on-the-house mystery cocktails
served with love
by our favorite bartender.
Sweet like fresh-baked pastries,
better than any mechanical wake-up call.
Rewarding, like timeless views of wild slopes after perilous climbs.
Hot as crowded dance floors, packed
with art students
letting loose.
these mushrooms...
I'd swim back to Paros for these mushrooms.
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