FOREWORD: Here I am, innocently reading a book in the sunny comfort of my kitchen and... some immature resident in the building gives me these.

Unknowing,
the sun reads a paperback novel,
casually supping the incoming tide,
when the letterbox chokes
on a creaky retreat
from the hand of a
mystery mailer
outside.

Royal Mail,
one presumes
(at quarter to four?)
and reluctantly shoving sunbeams away,
discovers the presence of three
on the floor:

three packets of condoms.

Now what does one say?