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 the s#@t out of him...

Like his mother used to do.