King of the Coast

Evan Lee

Sunlight falls on a hotdog stand; Salty air rises from a sandy shore, Seasoning a greasy hand Whose slimy food I had before. The taste, the man did contend, Carried flavors to confound. For money, he barely met his ends Wearing his battered hotdog crown And he said with wrinkled brow, “I half my foods like I cut half my yard, like how a scythe would mow— like half a scar. Since I lost my daughter, Ann, I’ve been only half a hotdog man.”