Man Walking Dog

A Sonnet

 Hunger for our picnics at Wilson’s park
lingers in my stomach like mom’s pancakes,
wait like Christmas, or New Madrid Earthquakes
for silver mem’ry gone into the dark
where the Mississippi shall flow backwards
from shaking rage that misses my baby,
I stare at the mutt like it has rabies,
the dog smiles at me, a mouth full of swords.
You would have fed it your sausage patty
from after church to-go Jerry’s breakfast
for concrete foundations castle steadfast
 that longs to play towered princess badly.
	Maybe I’m the one walking in a fog,
	it was just an old man walking his dog.