Brown

BROWN
My mother used to make us broth
when we were sick.
She grew up in a brothel
and saw her brother die.
They had formed a brotherhood
with her brother in law
who was very brotherly and
was driven in a brougham.
He always brought lots of friends,
without lots of brouhaha.
My mother would furrow her brow
when I chased her around with
a brow antler.
My father would browbeat me
and fill my brown hair with blood.
I dreamed of brown Betties, brown bread,
they called me brown-eyed Susan.