A Woman's Poem


He didn't like the casserole

And he didn't like my cake.

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.

That gives me an idea, the next time . . .

sounds like something my wife would write