15 MAY 1993, Page 31

Love Poem

All bills are prompt; pay's of uncertain date. The taps draw acid from every vat.

Chat-show pundits drone, on this and that, Yet tranquilliser capsules agitate.

Weird extramural harpies ululate.

Horrendous gobs of umber slime go splat. Old Dracula becomes a squeaking bat, Yet over the rainbow there's a peachy fate.

Although I hardly know where I am at, And Never sometimes tempts me more than Late, Perhaps this once I may prepare to wait, As I to your beauty me unhat.

Patrick Skene Catling