Traffic Calming Measures

One never knows where to put the small rotund devices that somehow litter the asparagus beds of all our nearest and dearest town planning departments of the soul. We have played hopscotch over the dreams of your most-treasured fossilised hamster chins whilst sorting out our more than impressive string collections into alphabetical order. Meanwhile the tadpoles have learnt how to tango once more. We shall not be free of them ere the spring comes, my little fully-qualified glockenspiel polisher. Still we will always have Prague, especially if we keep it in that shoebox at the back of the wardrobe of our forgotten hopes and fantasies.

Even now, though, that purple reindeer keeps watch over the road junction that lies at the centre of all our sexual longing and yearnings. How, in the deepest dark heart of the night, we whisper together of those erotic traffic lights, and the sensuous Keep Left signs as we build our desires for zebra crossings up to the peak of our most yearned for longings. and then, later, the quiet satiation as we whisper of small humpbacked bridges we have stroked and the Give Way signs we have known, before falling asleep together, arms around each other, as we dream of mini-roundabouts, dual carriageways and slip roads.