By the geriatric flats,
the fallout from a kerbside cuddle:

bloated batter,
disembowelled by probing fingers;
stubbed-out cigarettes,
scattered like diseased confetti;
condoms,
used.

And by the dented fence,
the ruts of rapid take-off.

Coitus interruptus?

— nothing serious, I hope,
as in the clutching cold of dawn I cycle past,
my oilskin's skittish escapades
irrevocably belted.