Cutting squares for a quilt,
she reached for her scissors.
“It was the jelly coat”, he exclaimed,
blaming it on his wife’s ova.
“We wouldn’t have so many brats to feed
if my swimmers wouldn’t stick.
My load ’s been slick and well delivered
since I was 15. Never had a problem, then.
No, it’s the jelly coat,” he paused,
“and not a thing I can do about it.
Come to bed ma. It’s getting late.”
She twirled the scissors in her hand
but thought better of it,
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