Dead sheep in the mud

 Dead sheep in the mud

Black kitehead of
Primal eyes
Goya horns
The devilish demeanour of that
Yow off her feet
Stick of leg scratching
The rooty rash-woven swatch of ground
Too much clay
Water logged
I slogged through
Sucking mud to reach
The half sunk
Dirt snorkelling shetland gimmer
Already wholly dead beside the feeder
Greying mould wretched dusty hay
Put away too soon
And fermented with such a
Sorcerer’s vengeance
With fronds of white
Another time they would have pointed
At the woman who put on a spell to turn it
‘See her at Seatter’
Whispering her away with
Their deathly eyes


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