Today I Bought A Book Of Goya's Works Poem by Raj Arumugam

Today I bought a book of Goya's works
and we debated at home if an unemployed man
should have $30 for Goya. Goya is priceless,
there was no dispute, but what's the price
on an unemployed man's head? What's an
unemployed man worth? Can he spend
thirty when there are other pressing needs at hand?
Was it
The Nude Maya
on the jacket the
man not working wanted? (Such a thing in a
yuppie's head is art; such a thing in an
unemployed man's hands is lust.)

I thought Goya should have the last word
and I opened to a page at random:
Bloodstained Saturn ate his children.


(from The Migrant - notes of a newcomer (February 1997- July 1998))