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MY good poems

By , royal oak, MI

You walk in and the atmosphere is chilling.
The passion creeps up into your bones and makes your hair on your arms raise at a rapid rate. The smell of little caesars and beer fill the surrounding area.
People are crowded and there is little space to move.
The women's bathroom line is like waiting for a trip to the moon. You could walk in a circle forever just trying to get to your seat. “Where's section 115?”

you pass statutes that give off their own stench of history.
People who changed the game for good and not their own selfish reasons.
You find your seat and no one is on the ice.
It's quiet and you can almost see fog surrounding the boards.
The giant clock reads 11:45 counting down till they hit the ice.

The rafters show past accomplishments.
The bad guys come out first and everyone boo`s, but then your heroes come out and everyone's eyes are in awe,
there is a twinkle in each one. They go to center ice and the biscuit drops in slow motion,
the rest of the night is filled with horns, hits, and hockey.
The games is over and the JOE goes crazy.
Sweet caroline come on through the speaker, this is history.




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