Classic Poem

Mother-in-law, do not stamp
on the kitchen floor
for hatred of your
daughter-in-law!
Was she payment for a debt,
was she bought for a price?
Father-in-law, severe as a sprig
from the rotting stump of
a chestnut tree,
Mother-in-law, shriveled as
sun-baked cattle dung,
Sister-in-law, sharp as
a new gimlet poking from a straw bag
woven three years ago, and—
like a poor crop on a field
that's made for planting good grain,
having borne a son like
a bright yellow cucumber flower,
who has the bloody flux,
Daughter-in-law, like the bindweed
on a fertile field:
why do they hate her so?