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On Wednesday, when calls are made
to one-o-five-eight-o,
from far and near the ’phones convey
their questions via Robin Day
to experts qualified(?) to know
the facts re euthanasia, ghosts,
or censorship, or when we’ll boast
a rise from Britain’s all-time low.

Astringent-voiced, our medium
controls the verbal tide;
so vigilant to cut off short
persistance, or a brusque retort
to proffered paradox or snide
reply, obscurant and eclectic,
the substitute for dialectic
such experts must perforce provide.

So week by boring week we get
those prosy repetitions;
self-conscious social consciences
(with ultra-naïve repartees),
the would-be politicians:
in ‘It’s Your Line’ they all desire
(hope springs eternal!) to acquire
some concrete expositions.

When Robin, ring-master, elects
to intervene – profound
as though a Solomon were there,
or Socrates upon the air,
his humourless approaches sound
unwelcome to the critic ear –
why does he have to interfere?
From caustic argument rebound?

T. C. Hudson 1976

© T. C. Hudson.

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