At grubby winter’s evening time,

They waited in the cold and dark.

He saw her run across the park;

Each changed their taxis in between,

To take no chance of being seen.

He opted for a jazzy blue;

She wrapped herself in guilty green.

 

Later, beneath a small squashed sky,

They looked back at the empty room,

Scraped featureless by some new broom,

With all scraps licked up off the floor.

They took due care to close the door,

Went back to mime a life passed by;

They’d done this sort of thing before.