Out On The Boundary

Out On The Boundary

The knock of ball and bat rises with
the tang of fresh-mown grass to
distract me from my work. I've dreamed of

standing at the epicentre of an arcing ball as it
heads boundary-wise. Smiled inwardly
as the umpire raises fingers to

mark the winning six off the last ball.
In reality, the glare of playing
at the wicket is too strong,

to stand at silly point, too foolhardy.
I play a quiet game, shuffling out
on the boundary, back to the pavilion,

waiting for a chance trajectory to put me
in focus. I'll stand firm, pluck the
ball mid-air, then turn to bow.