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A WOMAN'S POEM


 


 

(from the forwarded e-mail)

 

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 the shit out of him...

 

Like his mother used to do.

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