They took something out
of a Polski Fiat 126p.
They dragged it in
and plugged it in
while the neighbours' kids
gaped in wonder.

They went well into the night
watching Teleexpress
on the new colour TV in town.
Some kids got bored.
Went down to the playground.
Parents sat on their balconies
looking out for them.
But it was too dark.
They could not see them.
They could not see them.

Dogs scour the remains
of post-Communist streets.
I go to the shop
next to the post office.
Buy a snack.
Read a magazine.
Leave.

We go to the park.
Play some football.
Sit down on the bench.
We sing the Mazurek Dąbrowskiego
and watch the sun set
over grey apartments.