A woman's poem


He didn't like the casserole

And he didn't like my cake.

He said my biscuits were too hard...

Not like his mother used to make.

I didn't perk the coffee right

He didn't like the stew,

I didn't mend his socks

The way his mother used to do.

I pondered for an answer

I was looking for a clue.

Then I turned around and smacked him...

Like his mother used to do.