Two quarts of milk
One for the brownies
And one for me
That I won’t drink
That came from the store on the hill
With the old coolers and the cheek prints
Of a child, forty years ago

And one for the brownies.

Your spaghetti
Angry noodles
Pulled by an angry hand
From a timorous can
Just for me
Sauce and all
I won’t eat that shit 
Of origin unknown
Like the dusty household
And your stranger, angry hands.

Brownies, you remind me
We have brownies
Within these forgotten brown walls
With brown pictures
And brown spots on the furniture
Our browned hands
Fisting over whipped cream.