The train, which I took back
across the great plain,
I tell you, it was a monster
with a swollen belly.
It had a lair in Puławy,
ravened in Warsaw;
children greeted it
and it swallowed them.
Now they’re playing together—
the boys from the blocks,
the girls with matches,
Aesculapius in a palaestra.
Their parents have managed
to toss each one a toy:
hamsters in an aquarium,
a PlayStation, and a stamp album.
The parents are getting older,
longing consumes them,
now it’s they who come
to greet the travelers.
They look at their watches
through dark glasses,
and would like to light up,
but where’s the fire?
Until the icebreaker Sadness
weighs anchor.
Until the Summer School
of Common Language begins.