Driving in darkness, following the cat's
Eyes round the bends, you find at last this dog's
Breakfast of boarded shops and littered streets.
You wake in lodgings where the morning streets
Deplete your dreams. This town is not the cat's
Pyjamas and it's going to the dogs.
Your face will ashen. You will join the dogs
Of war and watch the ruin of the streets
Far from the gated homes of life's fat cats.
And on these streets it's raining cats and dogs.
If you have any comments on this
poem, K. M. Payne would be