I quit stripping when the first hen died. 

Her small body draped
over the pine chips
a startling weight
of feather and bone.
Lifting her, I felt dirty.
I forgot
how to take
off my clothes
and called in sick.
I should have buried
her with a prayer
but I have anxiety
about disease.
The necropsy cost
three hundred dollars.
I paid with cash. 
Everything smelled
like bleach for days.

                    



Genevieve Jencson is an MFA candidate in the NEOMFA and a poetry editor for Whiskey Island Magazine. Her work has been published in Alimentum Journal. She lives in Cleveland, Ohio.