Orange Vendor’s Disguise

In the vendor’s market/rules a phantom gesture/money changes hands/in dispute over fruits/with slack jaw customers./She then hands them over,/with as pang of regret,/on the incline past the freeway./Motors whir,weave through traffic/flutter of hands/at the vendor’s sides./Fire gutted half her building devoted/solely to the manufacture of boxes./Day after day, she unfurls a canvas/balanced on cast iron poles./Far from her lover/she hovers in thin garment/eyes like saucers/ready to live through /memories of a perfect lifetime./Beckoning to those throngs ,in sweat, ready to follow/the rules of her perfect disguise./Identity vanished,skin stretches over bone/she smiles, hard bitten,/this emblem of woman /clutching a faded photograph./She throws in the burning grate/lest she be discovered

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