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 make the coffee right,
he didn’t like my stew,
I didn’t fold his pants,
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 shit out of him,
Like his mother used to do.
A WOMAN’S POEM
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