Sonnet for Salvadore

  by Gary Miranda

   Of Salvadore the Celery King I sing.

   Illiterate in Lewiston, he'd wander,

   so I'm told, into the ladies' john

   and, barring ladies, not suspect a thing.

   But when it came to celery, he was king.

   And when he died, the Idaho Daily Sun

   said: Salvadore the Celery King Moves On.

   The celery hung its head, remembering.

   Sometimes I think I'll wind down Lewiston Hill

   (where winding up and winding down's the same

   except for purpose), enter past the mill

   and, turning to face the crowd, announce my name:

   "Gary, son of Dom the son of Salvadore

   the King, whose throne I've come to claim."



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