on motorway moving south | poem

poetry is in the streets

on motorway moving south

cat’s eyes

the sound made when tires drive over them

fa-dum

duh-dum

doh-dum

motion never blinks

tires turn if they want to burn.

lit cigarette by papa,

chapped lips and disgruntled groans

we preferred neck strain to side mirrors

opened windows invite a shit-ton of weather, in.

groans

toss turn in backseats

junk food bad breath short good…