The defenseman races for the puck
and a white flash shoots through my brain
as I wait for the forward to crush
him into the boards.
Glass shudders with the impact
and those of us near enough can hear
the grunt, the exhalation of breath
forced from the player's body.
A man in the front row wearing a jersey
stands and pounds both hands
on his side of the glass, the inch or so
of barrier allowing him to be brave.
Next to him his son looks up in awe and fear,
but then he, too, slaps his hands and screams,
a celebratory moment passing between them
that negates the need for words.
David Mihalyov lives outside of Rochester, NY, with his wife, two daughters, and two dogs. His poems have appeared in several journals, including in Concho River Review, Free State Review, and Naugatuck River Review.