Passing Vendor
Since then I lived without curiosity. Curiosities hurt and
at the end you don’t find out anything,
though I kept tidying the empty room, “we have to retain
something from the old beautiful youth” I used to say;
which room and which youth, wretched men, you simply
want to scare me and
usually the devil wins the bet, (you too will meet him
by the stairs one night)
I, on the other hand, remained a passing vendor selling
old things that no one buys these days:
umbrellas for ancient deluges, beautiful days that won’t
come back, a very important case regardless,
since when they send you away, when, humiliated, you go
down the stairs, angels, in heavens, prepare your future
wings. For this, don’t be bothered, I’ll pass by again,
thank you. Your servant.
Hellenic Canadian Literature 