Sunday Morning

You have eyes like an

Egyptian cat.

Now,

There’s a story

Behind that. ‘They aren’t mine’

I say.

I borrowed them.

I met him playing dice in the alleyway.

In the dark.

Playing dice with a scarab beetle.

Howling and cackling.

Drinking from strong bottles and

Betting with caps. His eyes, I remember

I promised to bring them back.

With a plump and juicy rat

Caught

Between my own teeth, and

Wrapped

Within my own hair.