A women’s poem

He didnt like the curry..and dint like my cake

he said my biscuits were hard, not like his mother used to make
.
I dint prepare the coffe right
,
he dint like d stew,
i dint mend his socks,
the way his mother used to do.
I pondered 4 d answer, isnt there anything I cud do
to match his mother’s shoe

then, i smiled and saw light….
i turned arnd
and slapped him tight
like his mother used to!!
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