3 JANUARY 1987, Page 27

Song of the Married Woman

See, the clouds are travelling along towards the sunset, in no hurry, almost unemployed except for the times when they are pregnant with rain. Sometimes they look down on the land and admire the hills and the plain before they are pregnant with pain.

Handbags, wristwatches, sheer stockings, it was another country. The milk makes us heavy. Now no lightning strikes, but there is the thunder of bottles on the stairs.

Give me my purse.

I shall set out on a summer day to spend the money I have not got.

lain Crichton Smith