Poem #66: Barnyard Crime Scene

I'll never forget the morning I learned about the nefarious ways of weasels. I had finished milking cows and was happily making my way to the chicken coup with their feed. I opened the door to deliver breakfast and gather eggs and what met my eyes will be burned in my memory forever. Weasels decapitate and suck the blood from chickens. It's a thing. Look it up. Or don't. Read the poem, you'll get it.