Fungal Jazz

Once a year I go to the corner
to the pile of things
that have no home
and shake off the mould.

Blankets and washing powder
irritate my skin.
If we have time before bed
can you scratch off my mushrooms?

Be quick when you hop in;
when you lift up the sheet
all the warmth squeals out.
The landlord might fix it.

I woke up unhungry. For breakfast
I shall eat my chilblains
and stand all crumpled up in the kitchen
praying over the bubbling kettle.

No one really lives here,
they have no names
and their rooms are empty oblongs
with clothes poured inside.

If the power went out
what would you burn for heat?
I would peel off those tongues
of sagging wallpaper –

what lives they must have seen!
I would listen to their whispers and sighs
as they shrivelled and turned
in figures of light.

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Aaron Craig grew up in Tawa and used to work as a programmer. Now he does odd jobs while travelling around Europe, mostly in the Netherlands. Facebook: craigtheilnguist