attest
i sometimes wonder if i should hide
that ten-year-old boy inside
that will always set my heart
racing in the hours before the start
of a test series
but as each one looms i fear his
influence will never fade. we go
deaf to all but the radio
tms soundtracks my every summer day
and somehow away
series elicit a more illicit thrill
finding myself still
awake and duvet-wrapped and half past three
hanging on every ball of commentary
transporting
me to sporting
contests in venues too far to ever visit
no matter how hard the child inside may wish it
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