Sunday, July 13, 2003

the day we lost the stanley cup

would that we knew nothing
of sixty silent years

against a long, perfect season

of lower-case capitals, a flick
of the wrong wrist

puck white against the black

so close could taste, of iron
in the blood, a blue line

of the heart

so what of next year

a spring of perpetual blame
that could lose us all to hockey

June/July 2003

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