The Thirties and Forties were one long Good Friday.
The future of difference was buried in rubble.
Misfortune turned ignorant boys into monsters,
and Lolek lay in the middle of the road. .
The Eighties began with a shower of bullets.
Outcasts were murdering poets and statesmen.
One managed to get to the emperor’s piazza,
and Lolek lay in the middle of the road.
My brother and I had to hurry to dinner.
Suddenly, church bells rang out between hours.
We happened to run into Father O’Malley,
and asked him to tell us if Lolek was dead.
His answer was boys, I know no more than you do,
Be good to your mother and try to be careful.
We took his advice from that moment to this one:
and Lolek lay in the middle of the road.
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