Public Toilets in Regent’s Park
The men here are bird-footed
feathering past the attendant’s two-way mirror
unperturbed by the colonising micro-organisms –
bulleidia cobetia shigellosis
sliming across the yellowed groutings,
the fist-deep pool of brackish water
quivering in the U-bend, the tile that reads
for information on venereal disease telephone 01 . . .
All for the thrill of placing their knees
on the piss-stained cold, the iris shimmering
behind a hand-carved glory hole,
a beautiful cock unfolding like a swan’s neck
from the Harris Tweed of a city gent’s suit.
Whispers, gasps of contact echo
inside each nested cubicle! But careful –
the prying attendant will rattle
her bucket and mop if she spies four shoes!
Our men disperse as mallards from the face of a pond.