Cobblestones rattle out at a deserted bomb ravaged landscape
disgruntlement dictated in his every step
mocking echoes mark the path to this battlefront
to find her waiting patiently? Happy domesticity, for who? Not she..
Having known the taste of freedom, to be told now again, ‘know your place!’
Shackled yet, she’ll black the hearth, red the step, fetch his tea
Starch those collars and sheets my girl if you know right
Not as if she’s like some others, braced ready come night
for the fist, or the kiss goodnight
And many more would rejoice full sure, to see her man walk through the door
Would the old Gods grin with mischievous glee to see how hard he strives
to set his yoke again upon her wearied back
as they descry how desperately he relies on her
her strength, good sense, resilience. They’ll muddle on, as before
Laying down the law, as he was by duty bound
‘you’ll fetch my dinner, by heck!’
‘I will indeed’, she said, compliantly
as stooping, seized their old hen, by the neck.
sense seeker 