This is a scheduled post planned to be published at 1365017432000 at 1365017432000
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 perk his 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 & smacked the shit out of him,
like his mother used to do.