Poem: Sheep Anthrax

 

There stands the bunched-up herd
And badly infected, more than one-third
I am told, and I must make the dread decision
Now, the quiet shepherds waiting, not a sound to be heard.

 

It’s a hard one, this, whichever way you look at it
I daresay, watching one sheep stagger in a fit
Head wagging, perplexed and more than a little afraid
Like every sick animal, sitting and rising, looking for another place to sit.

 

The silence prevails. None dare say
Anything at my own silent, stricken delay;
But that’s all—a delay, for I understand I have no choice
Anymore—this bleak, windswept, failing day.

 

There’s no promise or hope
As I signal the man with the knotted rope
To begin his slaughter. And he paces out slowly
Into the meadow, shambling brokenly down the slope.

 

The first, far ‘Bang’ scares the other sheep
Into a bleating, plunging, scrambling sweep
Towards the other end where more men wait, and
I, I stand watching that gory, growing heap…  

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from the collection Riverbeds Flowing  (1999 and rev ed 2009)