A Hooker Poem

My wife is a Hooker,

Of this she’s mighty proud,

And the stories of her exploits,

Are legends in our town.

She’s shameless with her talents,

She’ll go hooking anywhere.

And if people want to watch her,

She really doesn’t care.

It seems to be a family thing,

Her mother taught her how.

Seems her grandma was a hooker,

and my daughter’s hooking now.

She goes to Hookers’ meetings,

to learn the new techniques.

She starts hooking in a frenzy,

and won’t talk to me for weeks.

She doesn’t to the housework,

She doesn’t make the beds,

No she doesn’t have time for that,

She’d rather hook instead.

My wife, she is a hooker,

and I curse that awful day,

when she first picked up the hook and yarn,

and learned how to Crochet!