Catz Eyez

The Acapulco tread is worn away
and my exotic tyres look more like
teardrops than Michelin model 471A.

We are bouncing on cat's eyes
as if the motorway were strewn with
a thousand nubs of feline bone,
that glow a mutant green
and spring back into their holes.

Chad is my cat
he too has flexible sockets upon impression.
His eyes are like ollies
with that little twist of colour inside.
I attached a camera to his collar
and called the project 'Catz Eyez.'
With video screens, I was able to see
the things he gets up to
prowling the streets
and partaking
in anti-prohibition rallies
and drinking in speakeasies
after hours.

Vicariously,
I lived a night through the eyes
of my cat Chad
who listened to jazz
and played a perfectly pawed piano
in a trilby hat,
and he was excited that I had taken the time
to get to know him so well.

On the motorway,
service station bridges
and people crossing them
like a neighbour without curtains
leaving the light on.

It is as if some omniscient roadworker
had the foresight to realise that
it should all be tic-tac-toe
and that roadrage would be lessened if no-one
could ever win at marbles with a single throw.
And so, he fixed the cats eyes equidistantly,
Never allowing advantage
to fall in the favour of any traveller.

My catz eyez are glassy ovals
that make him look evil
when caught in the headlights.
This exact thing happened
in the driveway last night.
We had just come from London,
the engine crackling
with the heat of exhaustion.
Chad winking constantly at me
because I know what he knows
that jazz is the true artform
and if you steer your car
along the breadcrumb trail
of enough ocular bumps
you'll eventually find your way home.