Ivy covered arches

and soft green playing fields

with white clad cricketers

in floppy hats

bowling a small red ball

without a trace of malice

toward the one who bats –

ladies dressed in chiffon,

sitting in dappled shade,

applauding their flannel heroes

between sips of lemonade –

It’s different now –

they have their killer instinct

so I’m told –

their women dressed in jeans,

abuse the umpire and swear

because the beer’s not cold –

they say it’s all big business

and you’ve got to know the score

but somehow it seems to me

that cricket

just isn’t cricket any more –