Crow Poison
Amianthium muscitoxicum
The sheep
stumbled drunkenly
before dying,
stagger grass
found in the corner
pasture grazed upon.
Mother wept,
the meat ruined.
Not even maggots
would touch the mutton.
The wool still good,
but it came to more
than shearing.
She made us dig
the sickly bulbs
and burn them.
They could
have stopped the itching.
I would have hung
them in the house
for fly paper.
Plume: Issue #127 March 2022