The
last train has been and gone.
A
destination board illuminates two bicycles
alone
at last in the station rack,
locked in
an embrace.
His, angular,
splattered with mud,
leather
saddle built for endurance.
Hers, rounded,
set up for comfort,
dressed
in a fashionable lilac livery.
His front
tyre touches hers,
like horses
nuzzling in a field.
A hard
helmet rests in her wicker basket.
Did he
ring her bell? Was she impressed by whistles?
Days
pass. Images are analysed.
Two men
clad in blue plastic,
armed
with bolt cutters and compassion,
carefully
set the lovers free.
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