There are no women here,
Just shapeless black cloth bags ignoring me
That drift like windblown plastic bags
along the street.
So I must love the stray cats under cars,
Living in dust under parked cars on broken
streets –
For they at least watch with big haunted
eyes.
I find I dream of cats the size of women,
I stroke their fur,
They purr.
Published:
Ambit 211, UK
