AN EYE FOR AN....

And every night he
would fall asleep in

a tatty and torn
Victorian armchair

a terrible monstrosity

his left eye
in his right hand

losing his grip on it
when he began to snore

so that that eye
with a clunk fell

rolling under
the out-of-tune piano

beside the forever sleeping cat
who accepted as a nightly fact

that maybe all humans
do that

and so the eye
saw the dawn

tip-toeing in
the French windows

as the cat woke up to go
asleep  again

giving the eye
a cursory lick.

Godfrey falling
on his knees

screaming to nobody:
"Where's my blasted eye!"

The cat yawning.