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