Gig Economy

Nosed open grate and clang, evidence 
of where the cat is now: the wall, 
the crawl space, inside the time it takes to both
sleepcurl and get to everywhere boxed and high.  
He’s a freeprancing window washer. Speaks bird. 
Writes real estate blogs. Substitutes. Knows how 
to move property. Bat bat. And writes poems. 
The cat knows the redbud colors, when it colors, 
from the top down, which is also how everything slides 
off a dresser. He posts. This window: too soon for snakes. 
This window: too soon for snakes. He waits. Flicks. 
Puts up his belly to greet the weak day. High stakes.
A long stretch may mean means enough. Long lies 
(and sometimes lunges) the sharptoothed hunter
(O pay him!), pied, lank, and vetless.

ξ

Kate Murr gigs. She cares for plants in a swank hotel, cleans houses, advocates, writes and edits for money and pleasure, teaches rural K-12 students and their teachers about intersectional art and science, gives insulin to beloved, ancient diabetic cats, volunteers on farms, raises kids. She holds an MFA from Warren Wilson and she writes from the Ozarks. Her work has recently appeared at Midwest Review, Construction, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and Crab Creek Review. Her chapbook about Bald Knobbers and vigilante art was a finalist at Tupelo Press.