23 APRIL 1965, Page 20

No Place

I was brought down

In suburbs; Nurtured on asphalt, Stared up at the sky Through saw-toothed Tudor; Gates with rising suns, Gardens with plaster dwarfs Bounded my—what?

Childhood? I peeped Through featherboard fences At lawns lost in trees, Tennis courts and space I wished I could fill.

Now I can go, be Anyone anywhere, slough Off the concrete shell Of rebellion. Leave my-- what?

Self? Like the tennis ball In somebody's dahlias, Tiptoeing quietly away, Afraid of the sudden shout, And half-hoping it comes.

3011N DANIEL