A Young Man's Dream

“Girls could you give
Me some curtains
For my two big bathroom
Windows?” I ask as I
Pull down my
My black swimming
Trunks which are pressing
Upon my balls.
“Why are you doing that?”
Asks one of the girls. I reply:-
“Because they were
Crushing my balls”.
Filthy sacking is
Brought for my
Curtains.
I climb into the bath.
There are three taps
All controlled by the
Tides in quantity,
Quality and temperature.
I select the one
On the right. As I turn
The tap, I change,
Channel, finding myself
Still in my bathtub
In Kensington Gardens
By the displaced statue
Of Peter Pan.
Unruly children
With long black hair
Are training in the park
As Police cadets in
Full uniform,
Doing acrobatics,
Leaping onto upraised
Hands, leaping as
Nijinsky would have leapt
In the Ballet Russes.
Meanwhile
On the floor of the
House of Commons
Standing between the
Benches, George
Brown argues with
Harold Wilson.
Wilson I hate,
I berate him,
Condemn him, execrate
His name before him.
He returns to attack
Me later in the day,
Around the table
Of many fist thumps.
“In this part of the
City you will not
Find beautiful buildings
Of the kind you may
See to your left if
You look”.
I turn my head to see
A magnificent palazzo
Crowned with a glorious
Golden Seahorse.
No - I mistook- it is
A figure of Victory.
“But there are still
Things to see in this part
Of the city, look at that
Old wreck of a ship
Over there, turn your
Head and you will
See”.
Well yes it does look
Rather splendid,
But as I walk
Over towards it, across
A bombsite
Dusty and foul,
I lose my way
Among factories
Warehouses and
Fantastic machines.
I retrace my steps, back
Across the dust and
The rubble, observed
By some workmen in
Overalls. I pick
Up the ship and
Begin to read,
Mistaking it for an
Anglo-Saxon manuscript
Whereas in Reality it is a
Quaintly produced
Anthology of fairy
Tales, published in
Nineteen twenty seven.
I read myself back into
My familiar world.