Disguise Of The Vendor

/She rules the market, with phantom gestures;/money changes hands, in disputes over bushels,/with a stab of regret./Motors whir by,/on an incline past the freeway,/weave through traffic,/as her hand twitch, her frame shudders./Fires gutted half her building/devoted to the manufacture/of lots of empty boxes./Day after day, she sets up her canvas,/ balanced on poles of iron./ Far removed from her lover, who hovered around her, /in a trail of sweat, ready for her perfect lifetime./Those memories, of eyes like saucers /realized in the eyes of throngs,/By rule of disguise, identity vanished,/skin stretched tight over bones./Smiles, hard bitten: /in a faded photograph,/ emblem of a woman/ with hands burning, clutching a grate,/ consumed by searing flame, lest she be discovered.

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