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Mind Games

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There were no gold medals to pin and no starters gun to begin but for sure we were out to win the Baptism by Fire Games. There on the PCG we played and so it was the toss was made but this dumb Kiwi looked afraid and down he went in flames. But like the Phoenix he got up and from his beer had one more sup wishing like hell he had a cup or box to protect him. But the very next ball he'd face was a yorker at his shoelace honing in at frightening pace and things were looking grim. There he was on the green top mat jumping up and down like a cat on a hot tin roof with his bat like a hack tailender. So lest he retired hurt or worse and need a doctor or a nurse or be carried off in a hearse I asked "you surrender?" As the "Ashes" in us did burn soon at the crease it was my turn and for him a lesson to learn like in the Rangi nets. You don't bowl to Skeet in the slot or give him width to play a shot when he shouts "gimme all ya got!" and plunders all he gets! As the cricket lesson went on it was like bowling to "The Don" when victory was sweetly won and new lows he did stoop. It's no place for the faint hearted but I ended what he started when his next ball I well carted over the chicken coop! Yes, we played many a rematch under the house on his home patch but a win he'd so seldom snatch from the jaws of defeat. I recall it sure was fun though when a new grip he'd wildly throw and smashed the veranda window as Ted sat in his seat. Then his bat under his arm tucks when he scored two first ball king ducks and yelled all innocent "that sucks! Skeet, I wasn't ready". But the video didn't lie so he erased it and that's why to this very day he'll deny but I'm no Blind Freddy! At every play and miss I'd smile or when he'd in his tourettes style nick one more into the woodpile and then refuse to walk. But I'd wait for the umpire's call and check behind the keeper's wall then re-tape up the tennis ball and let him talk the talk. For whether clean bowled or an edge he'd lose it and begin to sledge or unfair dismissal allege and grand excuses make. But I with a twinkle and spark in my eye walked back to my mark musing to myself "what the fark!" and took a long drinks break. So were the days of idle youth but you don't have to be a sleuth to discern bull from the truth the pointed finger blames. And so it was back in the day until stumps or bad light stopped play back in that garage in Browns Bay we played out our Mind Games! ---- Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, you can't hit what you can't see! Dedicated to Craig "Duck" Bowden. My unfortunate clueless opponent. May 2014

Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

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