You’ve got to hand it to Mark Pirie. Yet again, he has shown outstanding entrepreneurship in bringing out the first anthology of
exciting as a full-throated appeal, serene as an umpire’s answer.
It is competition, composure, memory, anticipation.
Australians are English in all but the name;
In fondness for cricket we’re both the same.
Here’s to the noble old English game!
When on one flag one starry cross shall blaze
And float above the sunny lands that rest
In peaceful beauty on Pacific’s breast...
blows high or low on college hill
& underneath the oak boughs there
where sunlight & where time stand still
3 gummy old dags were wont to greet
with purple meths, new winter’s ill...
or clustered, stricken, on the grass
saluting late summer’s cricketers
with plastic bottle and paper glass...
was it world war three?
or just ian chappell
& dennis lillee?
fooles alone and poets would ask
would make request
the question begs: the beggars quest
the singers fail; the toilers rest
& the sun goes down
on their final test
& all this summer though I have kept watch
each Saturday when stumps are drawn
I have not seen them reappear
& the groundsman says simply
“the meffos? they’re gone