Lichen It prefers untended places, drab corners where it arrives like a boon. Kerbs, slag heaps, skewed gravestones— the roofs of council estates it spots with yellow coins dropped from the sky. Soundless and rootless, it ventures small claims, its chintzy blooms opening on concrete as though it were love itself, giddy and bountiful, living on rain and dust. Both fungus and alga yet … Continue reading Two poems by John McCullough