A WOMAN’S POEM

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