Hockey Haikus
Chad Davidson
There’s something about
swatting your goalie’s shin-pads
post warm-ups—Luck thuds.
Conflict—How can I
pledge my allegiance to two
national anthems?
Detroit’s new savior:
Cujo’s mojo in the pipes.
Hasek can’t hack it.
Terror in the crease,
Sacrificing teeth for goals:
Philly’s John LeClair.
Can’t muss it up, Mess-
ier’s hair, and all those hats
doffed to the bald ice.
Dumb intermission
games, while the team four-down gets
a vulgar ear-full.
She says, “bull hockey!”
Euphemisms just aren’t
what they used to be.
Speaking Japanese,
We would know that hokku means
wet rice; also hockey.
I deke you, deke you.
In the crease, I deke you, you
who look sorrowful.
Though I shall deke back.
And the deked shall inherit
all this open ice.
It is not easy
to deke on the ice, unless
you are a deker.
The ref calls icing.
Everyone is dumbfounded.
There’s ice everywhere.
Modano’s so cute
I want to throw roses on
the ice. But I don’t.
I swear! Foiled again.
H-E-double hockey sticks.
Satan’s in the crease.
Ice cold ice. Hot dog.
Hockey game in June, Phoenix
rising from the smog.
