An ode to a Strawberry Days corn dog

I waited in line, conscious of the caress of mild greasy air.
I heard the music of the merry-go-round.
The music passed in an instant, as the first bars of a sudden music always does, over the fantastic fabrics of the mind.
Dissolved painlessly and noiselessly as spilled lemonade dissolves the cotton-candy batons of children.

Three dollars to fry my soul with battered pig remains. The corn ebbed in my mouth forcing the ebbing words through my brain:

That great fried-star of morning-tide
O corn of corns and dog of dogs
The shining sword of carnies hide
Scraped from God’s farm’s farthest hogs
Rendered fried with breath of life
Strikes, fights, kills, my butt with strife