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Composed on Cardigan Road, Headingly, Leeds while riding the number 19 bus.

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Riding the 19 back from Headingley, after a day spent at the

Test,

Watching Stokes and Root and Bairstow in the field against the Kiwi’s

Best.

England wearing bright white flannels, opponents sporting soft-creamed

Hues.

Hot sun beating relentless from a Yorkshire sky rich in shades of perfect

Blues.

It’s been a glorious day for cricket, hearing leather ball hit willow

Bat.

Watching Leach on his way to a ten-haul and that incredible dismissal.

“Howzat!”

We’ve seen stumps cartwheeling freely, witnessed runs,

Fours and sixes, and one-handed diving

Takes.

There’s been trumpets sounding merry medleys

And dozens of slithering plastic beer cup

Snakes.

We’ve shared headphones, one ear apiece,

Listening to Aggers, Tuffnell, the whole TMS

Crew,

As their expert analysis and stats and daftness

Helped round out our Test Match

View.

Now we’re homeward bound but happy.

The bus is packed, we’re squashed in

Tight,

It winds slow over the tea-time blacktop

As Cardigan Road comes alive for the

Night.

In a window above Jerk Express,

I’m surprised at who I’ve

Viewed.

You don’t expect Mona Lisa to peer out

From a place selling Caribbean street

Food.

I hope her day has been like ours has,

Our day out has been jam-packed

Full

Of warmth, good food and fun.

But it’s hard to tell because da Vinci’s

Enigmatic lady is so darn

Inscrutable.

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