Poem: Thoughts on Hockey

By: E. Martin Pedersen

hockey

BRAAAAASH electro-shock buzzer
jump-starts the tiny crowd
It’s chilly in here, I’m chilly
dry salty mouth
At first they’re falling down a lot, like drunks on marbles
sticks clack
make good passes that are not picked up
to and fro a-go-go,
then the magnetic moment
the exquisite curled swirl around the back and in, yes!
Players bounce on the hot benches
straddle the halfwall between
in and out of the play:

sit stand sit stand
act cut act cut
Squat on the bench below me
the orange girl’s clean smooth shiny cascade of bright orange
frames her powder blue eye shadow
glowing warm inside, sucking on steamy white coffee
flaming pea-green flannel nestling her wrap-around hips,
my furtive connect-the-dot fingers follow the freckles on her forearm
inside the sleeve of her padded jacket up to her round shoulder and
down the path between her doughy pillows
over her unblemished white underbelly –
She does the Gioconda.
Mist entering a forest
nuzzle the orange lichen, tufts
of bio-sunshine delight.
She leans back,
counterattack —
the silent horseshoe
slowly
rings the stake:

up down up down
dance freeze dance freeze

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