Res Luto Materia
On mud flats we find a growth
we’ve never seen, sponge-like
with six-inch pores. The pulp of it
feels like the brown upholstery
of a car from the 1940s.
The opaque mass of this matter
covers a thousand square feet
and crests over ten feet tall.
You insist that we destroy it
before it slumps over the rest
of the shoreline, devolving
into the grossest appetite.
But only in a horror film
of the Fifties could lumps like this
animate and slop into the world,
devouring whatever they touch.
This blot of fungus will squelch
when the next spring tide occurs.
Feel it: cold as a side of beef.
Peer into the big pores and see
only the simplest kind of dark.
Yes, I can feel the faintest throb
of life, a dim sensibility
wrestling itself into shape.
Still, it’s only a fungal mind
groping for a host, unable
to perceive or appreciate
the red-streaked dusk, the wet mud
shining like a coat of mail.
Let’s return to solid ground
and get fish and chips and beer
at the little restaurant just opened
for the season. Let this creature--
animal, vegetable, mineral--
simmer in the simple perfection
that more self-conscious beings
mistake for lack of ambition.
On mud flats we find a growth
we’ve never seen, sponge-like
with six-inch pores. The pulp of it
feels like the brown upholstery
of a car from the 1940s.
The opaque mass of this matter
covers a thousand square feet
and crests over ten feet tall.
You insist that we destroy it
before it slumps over the rest
of the shoreline, devolving
into the grossest appetite.
But only in a horror film
of the Fifties could lumps like this
animate and slop into the world,
devouring whatever they touch.
This blot of fungus will squelch
when the next spring tide occurs.
Feel it: cold as a side of beef.
Peer into the big pores and see
only the simplest kind of dark.
Yes, I can feel the faintest throb
of life, a dim sensibility
wrestling itself into shape.
Still, it’s only a fungal mind
groping for a host, unable
to perceive or appreciate
the red-streaked dusk, the wet mud
shining like a coat of mail.
Let’s return to solid ground
and get fish and chips and beer
at the little restaurant just opened
for the season. Let this creature--
animal, vegetable, mineral--
simmer in the simple perfection
that more self-conscious beings
mistake for lack of ambition.
William Doreski has published three critical studies and several collections of poetry. His work has appeared in many print and online journals. He has taught at Emerson College, Goddard College, Boston University, and Keene State College. His most recent books are Water Music and Train to Providence, a collaboration with photographer Rodger Kingston.