Ashes Poetry

All incidental, like prime ministers’
question times each side of antipodean hustings
in election year, except volley and retort
are hard ball delivered at ninety miles an hour.

Anything else wouldn’t be cricket.

This is my father’s day pressie from Kay and Laurel on the recently revarnished kitchen table of a wicket which I used to hide under as a lad since the days when born in Coventry. This is why I’m a bear – Warwickshire through and through, even though not a drop of English blood courses through my veins