Sonnet For Salvadore Poem 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."