They are the only ones who taste good to me. I am the only one who purchases them at lunch. Two grilled-cheese sandwiches with melted cheese and crisp edges. Two who belong in my tummy. Two yummy sandwiches made on my stove. From my room I can smell them, but Mommy just eats them for herself.

Their taste is secret. They send flavors down my throat. They flip upside down and right side up and stick to the pan but lose their grip with some butter. This is how they cook.

Let one fall on the ground and the others joins his comrade, one on top of the other, there on the floor. Sweep, sweep, sweep, a good thing I cleaned the floor. I eat.

When I am hungry and too cheap to buy anything, when I am starving with the munchies, then I grilled-cheese. When there is nothing left to eat in the fridge. Two that came out crisp despite my incompetence. Two that fill and continue to fill. Two whose only reason is to feed and feed.