The Shootout Poem by Michael Fischer
The Shootout
The northern brisk wind comes in
and my anticipation burns within.
My fate lies fifty feet ahead of me.
The judge is the opposing goalie.
Do I deke, shoot it five hole,
or blast it to score the goal?
I put stick on ball and move in.
As I close in, I see a hole open.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
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9/19/2024 8:57:02 PM # 1.0.0.1119
