Psilocybin silly when the
cops arrive.
Sitting on the couch naked,
laughter aching jaws.
They ask where my wallet is?
I ask, where my pants are?
Even they laugh.
I can't say mushrooms are
all bad.
They are the catalyst that
brought me back to the
hospital to deal with the
real killer...
Booze.
I wonder if this is the poet's recounting of a true experience, his or someone else's. My wife cooks with mushrooms, but they aren't the 'magic' kind.
This poem begs for a Poet's Notes. But actually, after rereading this, I've found it, yes, funny in a way, and eyeopening. But how did cops happen to arrive? Not by invitation I suppose. : )
Sitting on the couch naked.......I can't say mushrooms are all bad.... Ha Ha Ha Ha...nice humorous
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
5 stars, ...for humor, brevity, and the (sometimes) killer ending. : )