Ashes Poetry

no great drama, simply done,
perfectly flighted, and spun.
flight to draw the bat towards the ball,
without the ball being where the bat is drawn,
that is the guile of the craft.

to beat the stroke through thin air
thins the air though the air
itself turns as one in the deception
twirled twixt fingers and thumb,
end of story, the rest perfunction.

once past the bat the bat is gone,
spin predictable, wicket inevitable
in the span between apogee and descent
where the very air seemed bent

to undo their best    created ahead
of the crease within the head for limbs
to heed and send the ideal missive,
no great drama, simply done,
set up by those before

Ponting R T b Swann 5