Sunday

CITY - BORDER - TIME

When the cock crows, they set up their stall.
Spirals of skins cut off and fall.
She arranges them in a wounded aluminium basin,
And as she lifts it up, she grabs hold if the fruit of her labour.

Now they set off in a quest to make change,
And at noon they encounter the smells that entise them.
Stomach rumbling,
Mouth watering.
Food for a mother and child.

Once their pockets and stomachs are full, they travel home with the dirt of the world on their feet.

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