I’m sure the grass was greener on that day
and the window, iridescent in the sunlight
until the next ball.

The delivery, was one and the same
leaving the hand, a deep inflection
onto the bat with force and vigour.

An outside edge, flying above the guard
the kitchen window took the brunt
it could not stand the tension,
the sudden onslaught.

It broke.

Stunned onlookers stood mesmerized
the smashed glass formed crystals
seasoning the food with sharp objects
that now needed to be dislodged.

The fielders gathered from around the yard
heads hanging as low as the udders
of the cows that grazed nearby.

One flick of the wrist
is all it took, and they knew.
They couldn’t play here again.

The grass faded, desiccating in the hot
summer sun and the iridescence
replaced with destruction

in need of repair and convalescence