Her Husband
Comes home dull with coal-dust deliberately To grime the sink and foul towels and let her Learn with scrubbing brush and scrubbing board The stubborn character of money.
And let her learn through what kind of dust He has earned his thirst and the right to quench it And what sweat he has exchanged for his money And the blood-count of money. He'll humble her With new light on her obligations.
The fried woody chips kept warm two hours in the oven Arc only part of her answer.
Hearing the rest, he claps them to the fire back And is away round the house-end singing 'Come back to Sorrento' in a voice Of resounding corrugated iron.
Her back has bunched into a hump as an insult.
For they will have their rights.
Their jurors are to be assembled From the little crumbs of soot. Their brief Goes straight up to heaven and nothing more is heard of it.
TED HUGHES
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