All those who lived in our neighborhood

Knew how we managed; they understood

That in our house my husband was cook.

He never used a recipe book. 

When company came they brought dessert.

It worked that way; I was never hurt.

My husband even did the shopping.

On Friday nights there was no stopping.

After work he drove straight to the store,

Filled the cart with groceries galore.

I always approved of what he bought.

In summer he cooked the fish we caught.

He’d sometimes pick up an apple pie

Or chicken pieces that he would fry.

I never learned to separate eggs

Or how to season the chicken legs.

Our son would go home from school for lunch.

He ate canned soup with toast that he’d crunch.

He also liked to cook Kraft dinner.

It was most probably the winner.

On weekdays I worked so long at school

Our suppers were quite late as a rule.

I had piles and piles of books to mark,

Usually stayed till after dark.

One summer Mom came to babysit.

I went to summer school for a bit.

Our son was soon cycling down the street,

Yelling that GRANDMA was really neat,

“My grandma bakes! My grandma bakes!”