Never really ‘got it’
This game they call ‘cricket’
apparently you bowl, 
to rattle the wicket?

Wandering about in silly hats
Randomly  shouting
things like ‘HOWZAT?’

Sooo excitable over a 
Wicket or run
Only playing in the hot
midday sun 🌞 

All in their lovely fresh, 
laundered whites.
That shiny red ball
So hard and precise 

That unmistakable ‘thwack’
Of leather on Willow 
My attention span
Is dropping to zero 💤

Funny hand gestures 
In this secret club?
bowling a ball 
after it’s frantically rubbed?

You can get caught out 
And bowl a Beamer?
Nope……
I don’t understand it either? 

You can even be called a golden duck?
But not the kind,
that you can pluck?

It’s a game you can’t tell
who’s even winning?
It’s more a social affair
not all about ‘innings’

That ripple of slow clapping
From the deck chairs on the lawn
It’s the ladies that lunch
with designer clothes worn

There’s a whiff of snobbery 
In this confusing game, 
You’ll have to explain
It to me again?

If there’s the slightest
hint of rain
It’s back inside to entertain 

Sandwiches cakes and
Cups of tea
all laid out meticulously 

It’s the most ‘English’ of games
You’ll ever see
On the greenest of grass
with that big white marquee