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A cricket geisha.

by Gaurav Sethi

Are you dead white bloody and cold

With your smile wrinkled wide on the outsides

Then you’re top, on top of your game

You played on a low daily allowance

Your hands cold, in the deepest recesses of your pockets

You were slow, so old, you were so old

But you were there

A cricket geisha

And how you looked, as you went down

It was mesmeric

I nearly stopped to see

What went wrong this time

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