Cricket - original poem by David Pike.wmv

Cricket

It had rained
from morning 'till noon
leaving bosses in galoshes
and damp flannel suits
as they observed the storm
depressed and verbose
as the heavens opened
and did the most
to make the wicket
as wet as a viscous
dunking biscuit;
and it was soon understood
there would be no sound
of leather on wood
or any sound at all
other than the drip, drip, drip
of the ongoing downpour.

Silly mid on
wasn't that silly
and had gone home
to watch the hands of a chrome
barometer.

And from the dry
and warm surrounds
of the clubhouse stand
they drank tea and handed out
rounds of ham sandwiches
in a steam filled room
overlooking a gloomy
wicket

This was summer in England
and of course,
cricket.


© David Pike, 26th October, 2011

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