There once was a man, married to Mabel
chewing his food, at this he was able.
She had but one wish
a thanks for the dish;
as he ate homemade bread at their table.

He looked at her strangely as she ranted.
She did not like being taken for granted.
"I cook every night
you eat every bite;
did you like what I made you?" she chanted.

"Why, was this special?" he wanted to know.
Could he really be that simple, that slow?
She stared back at him
with malevolent grin;
would he notice if she poisoned the dough?