He's dull as dribble; when he speaks,
he reeks; his hair is falling out
in clumps. He's swag-bellied and sway-
backed. His rig hangs upside
down like a bat.
But he does
his chores, and ignores
my curses, and the other women
leave him alone.

Frank Fagan

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/inching-into-madness-his-old-wife-still-sees-certain-things-with-perfect-clarity/