The Frozen Pond Poem by Peter Hall

Friday night at the hockey
A couple of friends and us,
To see men slide on pride
To see them dance on ice.

Men in armour colourful
Full of testosterone pride
And Identity of their city
Playing their game of life.

As worshippers bow at the throne
These men have got it made
At the frozen palace of dreams
As the puck fizzes from their blades.

Lightening quick transactions
Men flying without wings
Floating on top of the ice
Making their work boots sing.

The scurry around the goal mouth
Worshippers straining their face
Anticipation willing the puck
To fly into the holy place.

A player sliding on the wall
An unplanned tactical hunch,
Didn't see the two preditors
Planning a tactical crunch.

The helmet sprays in the air
A glove connects with a nose
Worshippers praising their gods
As blood spills on coloured clothes.

Red carded to the glass cage
Just like the referee said
So in about two minutes
They can do it all again.

The circus keeps on raging
The children keep on smiling
The ice the magic creates
A stage for all its hirelings.

The worshippers leave the building
With memories lasting fond
Of an ice rink full of Elvises
On the frozen pond.