Old Items Collector
He’d pass every Thursday, right
after dawn, one could hear his
voice awakening most villagers,
the young refuge collector with
his wide muscly shoulders and
sweet smile who’d buy anything
the villagers wanted to discard
everything they’d give away or
sell to the young man with
the sweet smile, one man’s refuse
the other man’s treasure, the saying
went and the collector was paying fair
money for any item: pieces of steel,
rusted, bent, and useless or
the worn-out desk of the crazy poet,
who passed a few weeks earlier.
Who would care to keep a desk of
the fool who wrote poems no
sensible man could understand?
Libros Libertad 