Artwork by Ethan Loderstedt, Staff Artist
The mushrooms grow in the wake of man They march to the city, hand in hand With stench of bark and blood of land To search for a place to call home
Ugly and bloated and covered in mud, the man inthe suit climbs out of his hole in the ground
“THIS CITY IS MINE!” the man in the suit cries. “MUSHROOMS CANNOT LIVE IN HOUSES!”
The mushrooms look at each other in confusion. The tallest toadstool speaks for them all.
“We mean you no disrespect sir. But these houses are dark and dank. They would be perfect for us to grow in. Why must you yell at us?”
The man in the suit meant to frighten the mushrooms so that they would run away. He never expected mushrooms to be so reasonable.
The toadstool prepares to ask a follow up question. It wipes the dew from its cap.
“Furthermore, this city is empty. Is it not right for us to make it ours?”
The man in the suit tries to clean the mud from his ornate, pink tie, only managing to cake more on.
“I’m sure everyone will come back.”
He sits, avoiding eye contact with his new fungal friends. They respect his wishes and wait for him to change his mind. He sits until he starves,
then keeps sitting. He dies of hunger, still sitting. When his flesh rots,
the mushrooms feast. They move into the city with full bellies.
The mushrooms grow in the wake of manThey live the city, hand in hand
With stench of street and blood of land
Never really thinking about the man in the suit
