Poetry by | September 23, 2007

Black bugs sprinkled by the devil’s breath
Are black beans, actually, making me hungry.
Their odor rises, darkening the evening, and stoops
Down to strangle my neck.

More of them are wheedling other
Vendors around to pack up and
Go home. But my basket is still
Half-full of balut, I have bills to
Pay and sons to send
Tuition fees to.

These black bugs—be gone soon,
I pray!

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