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Untitled MAG

By Paul S., Clarkston, MI

The rigid blade
cuts
into the resurfaced ice,
burning cold to the touch.
New hockey sticks
collide
with hockey pucks, sending them
whirling toward their intended targets.
The echo of the whistle lingers while the puck
kisses the red gates of the net,
clanking and then
thudding against the
lightly scratched ice.
Skates banging onto ice as I
viciously hunt for the puck,
my prey.
I swoosh around the epitome of my desires and
I soar through the blue line,
as I sweep the puck under the wing of my stick,
gliding toward the goal.
The shadow of fear descends upon me as 230 pounds of muscle
plow
through me, sending me
crashing
into the boards as
the hunter skates past me, the prey.



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