Rubber Biscuit

I am far from being a poet. This is one of the very few I had to do in my creative writing class. The sport of hockey I have enjoyed watching for many years and this poem is just fun.

 

Face to face at center ice.

In anticipation sticks click and clack, hungrily.

The striped man drops the savory biscuit, the game is on.

 

Bouncing then recoiling to the boards.

Everyone kicks, hits, flips, and slaps me around.

Blue line, red line, blue line.

Dump and chase I land in the corner.

A crash, a punch, blood on the ice.

Did I cause that?

Slamming into the boards, I find the angle of escape.

The coldness of the ice freezes the blood of conflict.

Smarting from the impact, I take a knuckling flight.

Whistle blows, the horn sounds, the heavenly light flashes.

Caught by my soft loving friend.

Help! The striped man has me, oh no not again.

 

 

Author's Note

Be kind and respectful. I do not mind knowing what people think.