The sweating men.

They were like great white hunters having brought
down a magnificent jungle creature.

Except they were traffic wardens getting a car towed away.

Heavily breathing, and baring snide smiles
they strutted around the hatchback.
Staring down passers by, taking dozens
of pictures of the number plate.
I wouldn't have been surprised if they'd
scented the car with their own musk.
I swear I could smell hard-on rubbing against
man-made fibres.

When the car was eventually lifted from the ground
and tied onto the back of the flatbed truck
there was a collective sigh, and they looked sated.