The Good Life
When some people talk
about money
They speak as if it were a
mysterious lover
Who went out to buy milk and never
Came back, and it makes me
nostalgic
For the years I lived on coffee and
bread,
Hungry all the time, walking to
work on payday
Like a woman journeying for water
From a village without a well, then
living
One or two nights like everyone
else
On roast chicken and red wine.
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