‘Cricket Club'


For forty years, it was just
Something to clear the post-work dust
Every other day, a bat he'd clutch
At best a game, at worst a crutch
But more recently, he's become
Convinced that he's a raging stud
An attempt to purge ageing's rust -
Or a late surge of primal lust?

It's not sport he takes pride in at the cricket club
But he'll be bumping and grinding at the cricket club
It's less willow on leather at the cricket club
And more pillow feathers at the cricket club
He's lost a thousand matches at the cricket club
But he will have his ashes at the cricket club
It's less the winning at the cricket club
And more the carnal innings at the cricket club

He's the king – not of the run
But the shipboard glitz of the pavilion
His game has stalled – it doesn't matter much
Forget the ball – look where it's rubbed!
On the pitch, you'd better duck
The over-sixties sex scud
After the match, the real blood rush
Is when those off-white slacks are kicked into touch

It's not sport he takes pride in at the cricket club
But he'll be bumping and grinding at the cricket club
It's less willow on leather at the cricket club
And more pillow feathers at the cricket club
He's lost a thousand matches at the cricket club
But he will have his ashes at the cricket club
It's less the winning at the cricket club
And more the carnal innings at the cricket club.

 

© M.A.Tovey 2005