Playing With Yourself

We are gathered here today
to celebrate a ball game
that is English,
that you can’t and cannot
do in the rain.
Where you can hide under the covers
to start game of play
and enter
the open door
of that girl you saw the other day.
With clenched fist
and relaxed wrist
longing for the taste of her
Full English breakfast.
Ball’s in her court.
That great English pastime
of lovely women blanking
the sorry chat-up lines of lonely men.
But under the cover of night
she is all yours,
on a sun-soaked beach
then in that imaginary luxury car
that can greatly increase
the size of your possibilities.
All wiped up by strong soft tissues for men.