motor

The cat
brown patches, black patches, white patches, furry
Hard bony head under soft fur
pushes its head against the human leg,
lets it's back be stroked,
seeks attention, hopes for play, hopes for food

the shower is done, the clothes are taken from the wardrobe,
check all of the small items for work
Take the car today, again.

On foot through the old town, past goldies second hand shop,
the days are getting shorter, the mornings darkening again.
Not yet August! Nem Pensar! Winter will come whether it is feared or not.

The car is in a lane, parked behind a tiny yellow car.
Small blue car and tiny yellow car.

Get in, motor start.
Take the illegal short cut through the narrow back alleys.
They are really only for cyclists and taxis.
 It is five thirty in the morning, who cares.

The motorway is fast, cars speeding by, two hundred kilometres in an hour.
The little blue car shakes with every passing.
SUV Mercedes Kia, bloated BMW, dressy objects to show off in, luxury coaches, so many ornaments,

Drive on, pass the trucks.
The blue car shakes in the turbulence as it passes.
Those trucks don't shake at all.

Monday, train day.
Weekend first.