A Woman's Poem

He didn't like the casserole
And he didn't like my cake.
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.

The human race has one effective weapon — and that is laughter.