How quickly it all rots away,
old milk, apple slices browning on the counter.
What is deserved? Death penalty, chocolate cake with a candle,
$100 dollar fine for going too damn fast.
On my day off I baked you peanut butter cookies
I pressed the back of a fork into them,
crossing lines, artistic flourish.
In the end when you soured it all
I ate them myself.
Not because I deserved them,
but because you didn’t.
In the end we all get what we had coming:
mine is the soapy floor, browning apples,
fine for going too damn fast.
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