Another "Am I a poet and didn't know it".

Like his Mother used to do.

He didn't like my casserole,
He didn't like my cake.
My bisquits weren't soft ,
The way his Mother used to bake.

I didn't perk the coffee right,
He didn't like my stew.
I couldn't even iron his shirts,
like his Mother used to do.

I wondered why we married,
It's a mystery to me.
He was looking for the girl,
Next door, like Mother used to be.

I pondered for an answer,
I was searching for a clue.
Then I got mad and,
Smacked him, like Mother used to do.


Granny