Memories

As I lay here in this nursing home

Dementia batting ,my mind doth roam

With eyes so blank my head on pillow

All I can hear is ball on willow

I open my eyes, look around the room

What is the time, is it night or noon

Who are these strangers around my bed ?

I don’t know them although one looks like Ted

A flashback and I am out in the middle

Incontinence bowls and I start to piddle

A nice slow ball, a swing and I’m straining

Somewhere in my brain tells me it’s raining

These strangers think I’m rather silly

I want to shout “I bowled like Lillie”

I had those batsmen scared and ducking

One umpire even called it chucking

They look down at me ,can I see sorrow?

I want to say “I’m batting tomorrow

Come to see me and hear them cheer”

But I can’t even put my mouth in gear

I’m very old , lost tons of weight

I’ve even passed my “Use by” date

My innings is coming to an end

I know that face, is it a friend?

All those sad faces looking down

At me, Lying in a hospital gown

I think! That one could be my brother

That pretty one, was that my lover?

I see a man in long white coat

Is it an umpire come to gloat

Is it David Shepherd of even Billy

What is this tube stuck down my Willey

I heard someone say :He’s 2 bob short”

Another flash I’ve just been caught

The light is dim, it could be “Boonie”

They must think I’m a bloody loonie

I’m in the ninety’s can I still linger

I’m looking at the umpire’s finger

Worried but hoping that he will say

Sorry, caught behind, you’ve had your day

I wonder if I’ll reach the ton

And raise my bat, will I have fun

Long time ago my name was Arfer

But now I think it should be Martha

Slow but sure up goes his finger

My innings over, I cannot linger

I shoulder my bat, I drop my head

I open my eyes and I’m in bed

My life’s been good I’ve “played the game”

Some ups and downs, a bit of fame

In later years through my grandsons

I’ve faced every ball, the ducks and tons

My life’s been one of ducking, diving

Wheeling, dealing, dodging, skiving

Plenty of cockney rhyming slang

But I want to go out with a bang

It now seems like I have lost the plot

They have stuck me in a bloody cot

I,ve got no room to play the cut

I,m deeper in the senile rut

But I will be buried with bat and floppy

Some think it’s odd, some think it’s soppy

But I want to be ready when I get to heaven

In case I’m picked for the first eleven

And if by chance I’m sent below

Amid the heat, the fumes and glow

My existence would be that much poorer

The Devil would pick me to be scorer

Now if you think this poem is “Poo”

Just have a thought it could be you

No teeth, no hair just skin and bone

No bloody fans, your on your own

By Delboy alias Arfer Daley