Toadstool Box

Growing up from my desk it sits

luring me in with its poisonous red

painted in Poland.

We are similar, it and I.

Despite outer appearances,

some days we are both empty.

Some days empty is filled

with a moment,

a secret for ourselves.

We are different, it and I.

Clearly it is hinged

while I'm leaning towards un.

Maybe it might share its secrets,

but that would require a conversation

pushing me closer towards un.

An eight legged interruption passes between us

like a fleeting thought,


Miss Muffet can keep her tuffet

and I'll take my toadstool;

we are essentially the same.