Mr. McDermott and The County Fair

 
I hanged myself with a silk worm’s cocoon
and no one ever knew until
old Mr. McDermott found
a thousand red berries on his front porch.
 
He baked a dozen pies
and took them to the county fair.
The thick red juice was intoxicating,
an addiction through the air.
 
Children begged and husbands swore
while mothers tore through flesh
for one, just one more taste.
 
A single star sparked evening’s song.
And crickets may have joined along
had there been ears to hear.
Had there been one more slice.

And only I know why that was the last county fair.