Poetry

Mrs Heracles Goes Shopping

For you I slayed a lion roaring,

took my hand-wrought sword

to a serpent hissing, many-headed,

trapped a gold-cast hind,

then tossed for you a wild and raging boar

far off into the sea,

whereon it swam to Italy;

you were shopping in the Co-op at the time.

I checked my watch:

time had I to chase

metallic birds from your allotment,

strangle, just for you, a rampant bull,

and tame a herd of horses, flesh-eating and voracious.

Then to grace your gentle girth,

a gift: a girdle from the Amazon.

I saw you trudging in the distance, lugging heavy bags.

Time still to quickly capture cattle, closely guarded,

steal fresh apples, golden,

and bestow on you a pet –

a dog, three heads, six eyes glinting

in the unaccustomed glare of a glass-sharp noonday sun.

You crossed the road leadenly laden,

as carefully in a casual array

upon your kitchen table I set out my

eleven extraordinary achievements

to catch your wonder,

and silently awaited your

loving approbation,

maybe more.

I heard a rattle in the lock – your key,

and stood in taut anticipation,

primed proud for laudatory epithets

to issue from your honeyed lips,

when of a sudden your clarion call

struck the air and hovered

in a hollow in my ear:

Did you remember to clean the stables, dear?

Ken Stannard