Morning.
No fudging!
No Steelies!
Play for keeps!
A dusty rut marks the circle
where animated boys ring the orbit
for play, to cry,
“No Girls”
Egged on by allies, they shoot,
Aggies, Cat’s Eye, Milk glass,
hunkered down, fist on ground,
a Lemonade Taw knocks out the Glassie,
et shot tour de force.
Penny marble,
threepence at most,
all Spud needed
to fill his drawstring bag at lunchtime
when rules, ruled.
Afternoon.
Billy McMahon’s marble fell,
Marlene’s groom Ian
marched, measured, militarised,
fit to kill
fell on a foreign paddy,
loading artillery
fifteen kilometres
from the action.
The town turned out
when 3791583
marched home, alone
on a fancy gun carriage.
Rulers decreed — Regimental rules applied
Evening
All welcome.
A roulette marble drops,
winners play on,
launder money,
or lose the house.
The game played for a government’s budget has,
all white,
or ocean blue chips,
to cover
the dollar,
or thousand, each represents
because no one needs a drawstring bag
in a cashless world.
Rules, rule in the house,
“not fit to hold a licence.”
Inshore Cassandra 