19 OCTOBER 1962, Page 32

Politics

I have what I think are intolerable dreams, Belonging perhaps to another psyche —My operator green or bored, a Nike Demoted to the exchange. In teams Irresistible arguments dazzle the city, Recruiting in bars and cafés: true-blue Polyethylene triangles, wire and glue, Smart but flammable, implausibly pretty.

I dream of concoction and wear out my flowers. Why do my friends, ragged as roses,

Vote for the plastic and strike tough poses While thinking of money—not theirs, but ours? Years since I dreaded your elegant arms, The ones of a kind, the pair we could afford. Yet, yesterday morning I fed a fat bird Rye-crisp, on a day for worms.

JEAN CLOWER