|"Purple Polka-Dots" Ink & Watercolor on Paper|
By J. Artemus Gordon
Charles A. Swanson
He thought, troll, but his only troll buddy,
Bones-Sniff-and-Burp, was, dare I say it,
trolling somewhere in the bowels of the earth.
The little elf admired Sniff’s gait,
somewhat lumbering, somewhat loose-armed,
for Sniff shook the rocks when he gamboled,
while little Claudius—that was, alas,
the little fairy’s name—such a name
to grow into, and he would never grow,
but as I was saying, Claudius coveted
Sniff’s ground-trembling tramping,
for Claudius barely skimmed the earth.
So, no troll; no other troll did he trust.
Clever as he was, he gathered spores
of drowsy, nightmare-inducing mushrooms.
His fairy eyes could see moonbeams,
even the translucent dreams of other fairies,
so why not spores? He puffed his palm
into a dim corner of wood-chips, sawdust,
straw, and waited for mushrooms to appear.
Before that boy, that brat-boy he hated
peeped into the cave, a fairy bed beckoned.
A bit of the restaurant, The Mellow Mushroom https://mellowmushroom.com, came into my mind as I dreamed how the fairy could work his mischief. The Mellow Mushroom creates an atmosphere of the psychedelic '60s. I breathe patchouli when I enter, whether there’s a real scent of it in the air or not. And I have to order pizza with mushrooms. It’s a given.