Your Mushrooms On An Antheap Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

So rare, so sure,
These huge buttons,
Like saucers and plates
Abandoned by the God
Who brought the rain,
That made them pop up
On this ant heap.

My friend the tortoise,
Has seen them too and,
Raced to eat this feast,
That has been dished out,
To any who will get there
First. I appear and he hides
His head, and watches me as
I make my pick as if to say,
"Leave some for me, " for they
Only grow once these gifts
From God. Pick them and
Know they will not be
Here when you return.
Cattle herders are hungry.
Boys who take everything
Home that has a smell fresh
Are hungrier. Your return
Will find only holes that
Show they were here.