Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Forty-one
Summer 2016
These Must Be Your Beasts
Jessica L. Walsh

The new place came with cats
scraps of ratty feral fur on mange
darting garden to garbage.

The man next door was ready
to hate me for feeding them,
for growing their mess.

And when I did not–
when I let the cats wail and linger
slowly wasting to wormy streetcat weight–
he hated me for that.

He called animal control every Monday,
the cruelty hotline on Wednesday.

A woman like me makes sense with cats.
On that we’d likely agree.

About Jessica L. Walsh

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