I’ve Been Waiting These Thirty Years
That young beanpole was maybe six feet tall,
that light-hearted worker from Powiśle
in the hell of Zielna Street, in the telephone building.
When I changed the bandage on
his leg that was torn open
he winced, he laughed.
‘When the war’s over
we’ll go dancing, miss.
It’s on me’.
I’ve been waiting for him
these thirty years.
Translated from the Polish by Magnus Jan Keynski and Robert A. Maguire