As my brother Pete bowled me a sprout

It’s rude to play with your food, what’s more

If you don’t stop it now, I shall give you what for!

But it was too late.

The peas on my plate

Were ripe for a swipe from my cricket bat knife

As I whacked one for four and the sprout for a six

Sadly the boundary was Dad’s ‘Weetabix’

The umpire called ‘out’ as mum started to shout

About the sprout that had landed

In the biscuit of wheat that was ‘Weetabix’ branded

Mum threw a wobbler and Pete had a chuckle,

As I felt the harsh justice of mum’s right hand knuckle.