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 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 him...
Like his mother used to do.