When no one knew
Which figures to choose,
Plain Work Proclub
Gazed fieldward
In pleatless chinos,
Casting off shadows,
Nose to the flag.

When cuts were called for,
Plain Work Proclub
Telemetered back
A single Messenge:
Utopia tight,
Please, reply.

As your period passes,
Plain Work Proclub,
The classoclast,
Hunched over a motor,
Matured,
Spitting bloodwheat,
Doesn't wonder.

So, economists,
Don’t forget
That Plain Work Proclub’s
So conscious
That no one’s even dreaming it yet.