A Woman's Poem
He didn't like the casserole
and he didn't like my cake.
He said my bisquits were too hard
and not like his mother used to make.
I didn't perk the coffee right
and 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,
and then I turned around and smacked the hell out of him
just like his mother used to do.
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