Tormarancio (cont.d)Kids mixed
with hungry dogs, on all fours
at the bottom of the garbage heap
stamp thirty-two teeth
onto a rotten apple core.
A woman darns
a ragged bedsheet
or hangs a few tatters on a clothesline ─
a baby in her arms
flabby, yellow, famished.
Sitting on the step
with his hands glued to his knees
and a cloud unmoving in his eyes,
in the darkness that fades as the blind rises
and banishes any trace
of sleep upon the face,
or leaning with his back against the wall
and his mouth shut
over a spent butt:
a man next to a man
and a desert for man.