Ice King

I watched an ice hockey game today and felt fatigued afterwards. There was too much testosterone floating around the ice rink. The speed of the game, the clear and present threat of violence; the sound of the stick slapping the puck and hurling it yards into the air,;the slamming of the sticks on the boards when players try to intimidate the opponent; the flagrant fouls--elbow jabs, body slams, and stick pokes; the verbal abuse; and the constant grating on the ice of skate blades that have been known to slice jugulars and kill players instantly on the arena, really sapped my energy.

All I did was sit there and cheer for my man, Mr. T, but the distress over possible harm that might befall him ate me up.

Still and all, he was poetry on ice.