
You tell me
I once appreciated
the taste of wild meat--
that I never curled my nose
away from venison, rabbit,
pheasant or squirrel,
but all I remember is rotting
fish skulls nailed to a tree,
bluebottle flies buzzing
near buckets of legless frogs,
piles of bony rodent feet,
and the stench of wet
feathers and blood.
You tell me
I once appreciated
the taste of wild meat,
and I know you must miss
that bright-eyed girl--
the tiny child who begged
"More rat, Daddy. More rat!"
always smiled and giggled
as you filled her plate.