seventeen urinals
in a row underground

you’re counting them twice
and a lad notices

whistles softly
through this gift

to Cardiff men since
Eighteen ninety-eight

glass bricks above
dropping light

marble wings to obscure
each shuffling space

the floor is damp

you’re always following
someone’s shining footprints

© Jeremy Dixon

Poem submitted as part of the Places of Poetry project, find out more here.