The mahogany table-top you
Had been the broad plank
Of my mother's heirloom sideboard-Mapped with the scars of my whole life.
That came under the hammer.
That high stool you swung that
Demented by my
Twenty minutes late for baby-minding.'Marvellous!' I shouted, 'Go on,
Smash it into kindling.
That's the stuff you're keeping out of your poems!'And later, considered and calmer,'Get that shoulder under your
And we'll be away.' Deep in the cave of your
The goblin snapped his fingers.
So what had I given him?
The bloody end of the
That unravelled your marriage,
Left your children
Like tunnels in a labyrinth.
Left your mother a dead-end,
Brought you to the horned,
Grave of your risen
And your own corpse in it.
