She serves breakfast on a bitter toast,
Her eyes firing hot.
In the kitchen, angry clanking of cutlery cries foul,
Tigress on the prowl.
It is anniversary or her birthday I forgot,
Please help me I’m lost.
She returns clicking her heels, with knife in her hand,
I, a helpless lamb.
She grumpily slices through the loaf, to my relief
So is belief.
Oh femininity! cracks the mask of anger, ‘How I baked’,
How well she faked!