Los Vendedores

Out of the sand they come
crowing like cocks in the morning sun

chanting their strange, melodious hymns to food:
TortilleroHeladoManĂ­ tostado,

and the children, burnished and thin
scurry to meet the musical men

and the women, smoked in their shawls
float on brooms behind them

and the beach is never still
with the halo of hunger overhead.

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