Soiled Mushroom Soup

The most renowned chefs storm
against rinsing. Flavor must be guarded
at all cost. My hands have been slapped
into using special brushes,
damp cloth that quickly absorbs brown.

It is a difficult task. I am in all forms
Occupation: Housewife. With marked
experience in handling floor mops,
disinfectants and insecticide.

I have seen honey mushrooms turn water
into marshland, apple-bob escaping slugs
to the dark surface. Porcini are known
for wormholes, their inhabitants
like clever mice in dingy mansions.

The end to scrubbing is celebrated by
spasmodic dance of garlic in hot oil,
a prelude to the heady tumble
of mushrooms and potatoes into the pot.

Then a lavishing of cream,
the blender to liquify unwanted proof,
parsley for camouflaging flotsam.
Dinner guests ooze praises all evening,
but my plate remains consciously empty.

My thoughts dwell on maggots, soil
that invades every porous flesh,
dirt eating under lilac-polished nails.
Inevitably, I turn and turn humus.

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