I’ve a difficult subject that I need to broach--
Are you having an affair with our kids’ hockey coach?
I know that he’s skilled at handling the puck,
But really, my dear, I must say—what the hell?
Those 6 a.m. practices he sometimes misses--
Is he home in our bed smothering you with kisses?
While I schlep to rinks that are icy and dank,
Are you two warm and snug? C’mon now—be frank.
He’s counseled the kids since they were just Mites,
Is he what you think of when off go the lights?
They had a good record when they were in Squirts--
If he’s your ideal, believe me it hurts.
I remember you saying that he was your type
An offhand opinion that struck me as tripe.
He may have a full-head of raven-black hairs
But other than that I don’t think he compares.
I’ve seen him up close in the kids’ locker room
You’re much better off having me as your groom.
He doesn’t always shower, I’d think you would gag
To sleep with the smell of an old hockey bag.