The sun suspends atop their heads

Shadows imprisoned beneath their feet

A line snakes like the Mississippi

Cotton-mouth stomachs groan for sustenance

Crows scurrying for crumbs

Yet avoid the barren shop that fed thousands

The owner’s skin pruned and tanned

By decades’ exposure of flames and spices

Greetings carved valleys along his face

Hidden in them holds the sunlight from the past

Ginger, peppers, and garlic foraged by raisined hands

Flamboyant tosses singe eyebrows and paint the air

Sesame freckles sprinkle the golden nuggets

The meals prepared cool with the rising moon

Crows flock the factory line’s chum

Vertebrates sink their fangs into artificial prey

Sweetness and bitterness of citrus flavoring and pesticides

Additives and preservatives coat their throats so well

Carnelian glaze and Uranium vegetables are what they crave