It is not the hebenon that was distilled
into Old Hamlet’s ear
during his elysian sleep, 
nor the toxic taxine
that ripples in the blood streams
of funereal yew trees.

It is not The Strangler
of Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire
that constricts one’s throat
without the aid of a hempen rope,
nor the hemlock administered to Socrates’ brew
to induce his doom.

It is not the poisoned darts
that feature in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s art,
nor the bitter cyanide
in Agatha Christie’s.

It is simply the lethal ricin,
emanating from your speech.