It was a damp summer
all the gutters leaked
into my mansion
Rotten plaster and window frames
The fungal thread of death.
I played squash like a maniac
Every week. The showers
were humid and smelt quite bad.
My feet too. Smelly trainers.
The fungal thread of death.
I went organic. Green spuds
and tomatoes too. Chemical free.
By August they were all black and putrid
The fungal thread of death.
I printed this poem
on high grade handmade paper.
The sweetest cellulose. Quite soon
It was spotty and almost gone.
The fungal thread of death.
By John Lucas ( unfortunately to late for publishing in the book)