Ulica Sprzeczna Pitch-Perfect

Up up, high on the wooden scaffolding
Three painters are looking down
Down at the volleyball match
Played by the local fire brigade men
Waiting for their next roll call.
There, by the creepy courtyard
The stench of bleach is overwhelming
A kid walks his dog in the ruins
Tall weed grass all around them
It’s early morning and the dice are cast.

Art. Art doesn’t belong to a place like this
Look how some vandals made a messy
Mess of a National Museum painting
Reproduced in full colours on a wall
By the muddy lot under the Wulkanizacja sign.
The sound of heels clicking across the alley
For a heartbeat the players on the pitch 
Don't care about their ongoing set point
A smash is left mid-air, the net deflects it
The firehouse bell breaks up the onlookers' bliss.

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