her mother's recipe for squirrel stew

it was our first,

our last date.

in fact it was the last time

we talked,

ever.

maybe it was the yellow

corvette

she pulled up in,

or the stack

of bleached hair,

or the gun

in her purse, or the fact

that she

married

a second cousin once.

maybe,

or maybe it was the recipe

she gave

me for squirrel stew

that i still have taped

to the refrigerator

door.