Today’s poem

THE OLD BOY

An Old Boy reminisces, Talks of cricket that he misses, He remembers scoring winning runs and when, He took eight wickets in a match, Caught a stunning boundary catch, And he wonders if he’ll ever play again . . . ‘I’ve kept this old scrap-book, ‘Would you like to have a look? ‘There’s pictures of us all from distant games. ‘I recollect the faces. ‘The blazers, beards and braces, ‘But don’t ask as I’ve forgotten all the names! ‘I’ve been trying on some pads, ‘They’re not new — they were my Dad’s, ‘Do they buckle on the inside or the out? ‘My legs have got so thin, ‘They go twice around the shin, ‘What’s this Velcro I keep hearing all about? ‘These batting gloves might do; ‘They’ve seen a game or two, ‘Though sweat has made them rather stiff and tight. ‘Could that stain be really blood, ‘From some past and painful thud? ‘But what good are two left hands when I bat right! ‘Here’s protection I recall, ‘From a short and hostile ball, ‘“Forget it at your peril,”’ I was told ‘It’s the first thing that I packed, ‘To keep modesty intact, ‘Now it’s perished and it’s, propagating mould! ‘I hope that I’m not boring, ‘Did I interrupt your scoring? ‘I’m interested in all you’ve said to me. ‘I like a little chat — ‘Perhaps you noticed that — ‘You remind me of the boy I used to be.’ Outfield, a damaged sinew. Means that someone can’t continue, And a substitute is needed there and then, Shouldn’t do him any harm, He could throw in under-arm, And the Old Boy volunteers to play again. David Swindells, Bournemouth.