By Leanne Bryan

Bring to us the spoils of

The Saturday night takeaway

Steam clouding round you as

you bang your way through the front door

Navigate the carpet

without stepping on hidden mines

of Lego and Barbie shoes,

deserters of the toy boxes

of superglue and duct tape.

Let the hungry hounds of the floor

Steal the stealth of your arrival.

The children join for your fanfare

as you return home at last.

The glory of their small childhood

Is yours, this home is yours,

This wife is yours.

We need no other hero than this.