Young Americans

Our neighbours’ kids, aged about three,
Both hit a high ball, ‘Pitch it!’ (Yankees).
We used to bowl spinners, on the same grass;
‘Home runs’, their small aim, a swipe so hard.
I prefer to time my boycotted sessions,
To take me to tea, with no umpires questioned:
‘Parkinson’s Rule’ never allows a fair draw:
Let’s aim for a long game, so I can bat on some more;
In a few good summers, ten at least,
I’ll have taught those kids to pitch on the crease.