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."