by Ama Bolton

The returning hero’s welcome
is not quite as he imagined.

He tells the horrors of war
but can’t kick the habit
of bragging, even now.

Penelope after twenty years
is not quite as he remembered.

She hears him in silence
and picks at the tassels on her belt.

She tells the equal and opposite
horrors of waiting at home
of begging stale news from travelling tradesmen
of snatching at scraps of rumour
of each year finding it harder
to remember his voice
and the colour of his eyes
and whether and why she loved him
of seeing her son his son growing up
in a household of insolent servants
with women and wastrels.

Is this what he wanted?
- to play Darby to her Joan
this bruised and bitter woman
who’s patched together a life without him
and kept her head somehow above water
no thanks to him.

And he? Can he shake
the sand from his grizzled curls
put his shoulder to the wheel
and set the ship of state on course
collect the taxes
make amends
befriend his son
shut the hell up about Troy
Hecuba Circe and the rest
and live an honest life in peacetime?

©Ama Bolton