would be very hot, seeing that the sun
was not going to warm us; and that the crumb
would be a loaf each, buttered, by a miracle.
At seven a man stepped out on the balcony.
He stood for a minute alone on the balcony
looking over our heads toward the river.
A servant handed him the makings of a miracle,
consisting of one lone cup of coffee
and one roll, which he proceeded to crumb,
his head, so to speak, in the clouds—along with the sun.
Was the man crazy? What under the sun
was he trying to do, up there on his balcony!
Each man received one rather hard crumb,
which some flicked scornfully into the river,
and, in a cup, one drop of the coffee.
Some of us stood around, waiting for the miracle.
This Depression Era poem’s bread and crumb imagery recalls breadlines, though it is said that Bishop had been recently introduced to Wonder Bread and that somehow this American product provided her a crumb of inspiration. 
 The poem is about a kind of wonder at the world, a world where miracles occur–or don’t.  One can give this poem a healthy Marxist reading: those below the balcony (the workers) wait for crumbs to fall from the people being served on the balcony (the bourgeoisie).
A Miracle For Breakfast