I never really got to know my mother; I did have a better opportunity than my younger sisters. She was kind loving soul, against all odds. Would have done what this poem describes with that loving slap!!!
toad
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.
thisoldtoad 