A Woman’s Poem

He didn’t like the curry
And he didn’t like my cake.
He said my biscuits were too hard…
Not like his mother used to make.

I didn’t prepare 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.
Isn’t there anything I could do
To match his mothers shoe.

Then I smiled as I saw light
One thing I could definitely do
I turned around and slapped him tight…
Like his mother used to