“In Between Periods”
The echoed chatter of an ice rink,
yeah, that’s the stuff.
Crisp industrial blue lines,
Rapid reds rising and striking out the distance.
The white sheen,
reflecting effort, and small victories,
Two nets, standing opposed.
Catching all the dreams.
Slush, and discarded ice.
A blade brought through a rag wrapping pinched forefingers and thumbs.
Tight and clean,
ready to cut some strides.
A symphony of grunts and encouragements.
Plumes of breath at different heights.
This isn’t practice,
it’s organized fun.
Where you learn without thinking.