IN THOSE DAYS WE LIVED ON SELLING NEWSPAPERS Poem by Tatjana Gromača

There were happy days then
when I'd sell them all in a few hours.
Then with a bag full of money
I'd run back to my rented room
with a view of slum balconies and yards
and empty its dirty contents onto my bed
with naked Venus pictured on the blanket.
I'd sit with my legs crossed
and contented, like a robber
whose job had been well done,
drink a carton of cold milk
to soothe my dry throat filled with exhaust fumes
while counting slowly my thirty percent earnings.