Ashes to Ashes,
Dust to dust,
Step out of the crease,
The Aussie eye says yes please.

But fairness the English cry.
‘It’s not cricket’, they  sigh.
Piers Morgan short circuits.
The MCC turn to  outrage,
And Rishi Sunak jumps on the diplomatic stage.


Bairstow is still standing at Lord’s,
Stunned that the Aussies know his tricks.
Broad screams rude words at this wicket,
As Stokes looks to Woakes for a speeding ticket.


What more can the Aussies do?
Other than look away from this English zoo.
We helped as much as we could,
Smith dropped a catch
And Starc tried he best too.

Maybe draw a bigger line?
What about putting up a sign?
“Here’s the crease, 
Don’t leave if you want your innings to decease?”

But I get it, I really do.
If the English wore our shoe,
Their keeper wouldn’t throw the ball,
And stump us out to enthral,
The barmy army in their latest pub crawl.

So much blood and spilled tea, 
Over that single delivery.
Carey, Cummins, and Albanese, 
May be we should turn down the rivalry.

At Headingly,
Let us ask the English team, 
When they’d like to stay or leave.
Did they like this ball or that shot?
We can replay that for you, Sir Lancelot.


If there's a moral to this sorry tale,
It’s hide your hypocrisy,
Under veils of angry memes and sad faces,
Or trip over at Borough Market your shoelaces.

There is still time dear England, 
You have 3 more tests to contest, 
The burning coals on the headrest.
Just maybe, letting this go through to the keeper is best!