Elbi drives some guy to the airport,
taking his Uber down Świętokrzyska Street
and into Wisłostrada, or so the GPS directs him.
Is this really the best route? No one can say for sure.
He follows it anyway, must get to Żwirki somehow.
Half the Palace of Culture in the rear-view mirror,
the city’s empty at six, so it’s easy to get through.
He thinks of what Adamek said about Mamed;
half a minute and he’d throw in the towel,
if it was MMA. Elbi looks in the mirror.
He’s put on some weight. Must start training again,
but when? In Poland he has little time
and few friends. Żwirki’s ahead of them,
the linden alley, and the new Beyoncé
song’s broadcast on the radio. Elbi knows the lyrics:
“This ain’t Texas (woo), ain’t no hold ’em (hey)”

He croons it quietly, so as not to disturb
his passenger on the back seat, probably heading for Thailand,
a holiday on the beach. Elbi will get one, too,
as soon as he has the dosh.
He will lie on the beach, soon enough, but not now.
One day he will, for sure, if he works hard enough.
The new Beyoncé on the radio. Elbi knows the lyrics:
“This ain’t Texas (woo), ain’t no hold ’em (hey)”