A skeleton, hair parted and skirted like a market vendor, sits serenely at the center of Skeleton Selling Chickens, her bony hand offering up a plump bird to a cluster of eager, wide-eyed fowl. The lines are brisk and economical, yet every gesture is precise: the skeleton’s jaw seems to grin with the easy confidence of someone who knows her trade, while the chickens gather in animated anticipation, their beaks open as if mid-bargain. The stark black-and-white palette heightens the sense of both humor and unease, drawing the viewer’s eye to the absurdity of commerce conducted by the dead.

This is not a scene of horror, but a lively transaction in a world where the boundaries between life and death have grown thin and playful. Created sometime between 1880 and 1910, this print belongs to a world where satire and social commentary flourished in popular art, especially in Mexico. José Guadalupe Posada—whose name is inseparable from the calavera, or skeleton figure—used such images to lampoon the living, poke fun at the powerful, and remind all viewers of mortality’s democratic reach. Prints like this were cheap, widely circulated, and meant to be seen by everyone: they adorned broadsheets, flyers, and festival decorations, especially during Day of the Dead celebrations.

Though little is recorded about this specific print’s journey, its presence in the Metropolitan Museum of Art collection today speaks to the enduring wit and bite of Posada’s vision. Look again at the skeleton’s knowing smile—she is both vendor and warning, and her market is always open.