by John Wrench

I like to be polite to strangers.
It’s courteous to use their proper name,
to show an interest in the mob
they fit in, where they hail from.
But I reckon you’re a weirdo.
I mean, a creature of two worlds,
but then, no alien to where I tread.
Perhaps not so much two worlds
but showing some of each.
What is your dearest name?
The one revealing your true self?
I really cannot call you plant –
your vestment lacks a decent solid green.
Nor does animal seem appropriate
although your cloak is chitinous enough.
Your store of glycogen just simply
jumbles the whole issue even more.
Cohabiting with algae seems a ruse –
What price the loan of chloroplasts?
The other ruse is stinking of bad meat
Exploiting nosey flies for nursery jobs.
But wait, your toxins are not right for plants
No alkaloids, no aromatic oils, sweet smells
What’s more, you never fly or walk.
I give it up. Fungus you will have to be
of many kinds, but quite unique.
You are a very singular mycomystery.