After Eating Hot Dogs

I ate as many hot dogs as I could.
I took the mustard that was in the fridge,
And cooked them on a spit, beside the bridge
Between downtown and my old neighbourhood,
The one that isn't safe, though it looks good
From over by the trees, up on the ridge.
Also, the hot dogs might have been a smidge
Too old, and undercooked — that's understood.

And when it rained (it always does) I hid
Beneath the bridge, down in the underbrush
With some raccoons, a squirrel, and a thrush,
Who reassured me we were off the grid.
Whatever I remembered, thought, or did,
No one would care. There was a gentle hush.