An Escapade in Radość

There happens to be a village
named “Happiness”
a half-dozen train stops
from my gentrified flat
down in the leafy outskirts
of the Polish capital.
Pinewoods and kindergartens
workers wearing orange
semi-fluorescent overalls
busying themselves fixing fences
whose spikes challenge those of
the half-hidden parish church
caught between the latest wedding
and the last goodbye of a funeral.
Amen. It's Monday morning:
Happiness townsfolk walk past
drive fast, speed up.
Behind heavy curtains, someone
keeps careful track, looks out
for the wandering stranger. 

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