Night Bus – Pavol Janik 

I admire the smiles 

of the wax figures 

and the drunks. 

Their faith. 

Their humility. 

Their precision. 

Their infallible wisdom 

determined by the office of normalization. 

I admire 

their wallpapered souls 

full of light and brocade. 

Their responsibility and legality 

surpassing 

the price of taxis and wine. 

I’m terrified by the indifference 

with which they listen 

to the heavy breathing of the last trolley buses. 

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