A Brief History of Time in Wharfdale
His solar tan is painted on
his Greek god locks are almost gone,
he’s sent in at number three,
asked to stay there until tea.
Makes his block hole with his toe -
(every inch the seasoned pro)
He shuffles briefly, takes his stance,
contemplates a fine leg glance.
Another careful look around,
can long leg cover all that ground?
In his mind,selects the spot,
deflect it leg side,that’s the shot.
Use the bowler’s bounce and zip,
take it late,just off the hip.
To his shock, the first ball’s slow,
swings a tad and then keeps low.
Deceived,he manages to snick it -
caught behind,another wicket.
First slip grins and says,”Don’t worry,
Tha can fuck off early,back to Surrey.”