The last in a series of poems inspired by the SSSW challenge quotes.

Huge thanks to all involved, particularly dust on the wind:-)

"I don't like this game"


Game


If I had known that Crittendon

Had planned a game of cricket,

I would have found a good excuse

To stay away, goldbrick it.

The landed aristocracy

Might play the game interminably,

But not my bleedin' family;

I really don't like cricket.

~0~

Three posts, two bails, a bat, a ball

Are all required for cricket;

I'd rather have a bigger ball

And run around and kick it.

He'd like us clothed appropriately

In cricket whites...yeah..seriously…

What else...best china plates? High tea?

I really don't like cricket.

~0~

I'm landed with the umpire's role

To supervise the cricket;

If Carter says one word, I swear

I'll tell him where to stick it.

He thinks an Englishman like me

Should know the rules instinctively;

I'll make them up, call randomly;

I really don't like cricket.

~0~

He also wants a notice board

To show the scores in cricket;

I might get caught while stealing one,

A novel sticky wicket.

I've had that term, ironically,

Applied to me too frequently;

When judgement failed appallingly;

I really don't like cricket.

~0~

Now...Crittendon is droning on,

About his precious cricket;

A bag of wind, inflated pride.

I'd really like to prick it.

He barrels on and doesn't see

The chaos retrospectively;

His unintended legacy;

I really don't like cricket.

~0~

Geraniums, surprisingly,

Have stopped this game of cricket.

If one should grace Klink's flower bed,

Most would not dare to pick it.

But Crittendon, obsessively

Attracted to such botany,

Could not resist plant larceny;

I really don't like cricket.

~0~

Two guards have come for Crittendon,

His bat and ball...no cricket.

Oh, what on Earth possessed the man

To see the bloom, and nick it?

He's bowled out metaphorically,

So, life continues peacefully

Until the bumbling fool is free;

And still, I don't like cricket.

~0~