He didn’t like her coffee, he called her cooking fake;
He said her food was too bland, not like what his mother used to make.
She did not clean everyday, she couldn’t sew too,
She did not polish his shoes, like his mother used to do.
He told her she was cold; not lively, fun and wild
Like his mother promised him when he was a child.
She did not like his family, she never used to pray,
She didn’t believe in half the things his mother used to say.
She pondered for an answer, she almost went berserk.
Trying to find something, to match his mother’s work.
Then it came to her one day, she gathered all her might,
She turned around to face him, and fully slapped him tight.
He blinked at her, lost, like a little kid.
She told him she finally could do something his mother did.
(Inspired by a similar poem I read as a child.)