Welcome to My Poetry Site
47,189 poems read
“The Defenseman”
He took the hit,
He could see him coming,
Straight for him,
Out of the corner of his eye,
Hard and fast.
Both the puck and the defender,
We’re going to arrive at the same time.
They were down 2-0,
Late in the 3rd,
When he stretched out his body,
And with his stick,
Stopped the puck,
From crossing over the blue line,
And chipped it towards,
Some open ice in the slot,
Where the left winger streaking in,
Redirected it towards the net,
Right before his world went silent.
He was still conscious,
As he lay on the ice,
His helmet teetering on the ice,
3-feet in front of him.
The whistle blows stopping play,
After the goalie had slid,
From his left to his right,
To cover the wide open net,
And deflect the puck,
Up and over the glass.
He slowly pulls himself,
Up and off the ice.
The silence being replaced with,
A low monotone hum.
He can see the players on the bench,
Tapping their sticks,
On the rink wall in front of them,
A small token of admiration,
For his skill and sacrifice.
Through clenched teeth,
And sweat filled eyes,
He gives his teammates a nod,
To let them know he’s alright,
As he takes a seat on the bench.
He steadies his breathing,
And pushes back on the pain.
His team still down 2-0,
But he’ll be ready for his next shift,
And he’ll make that same play,
Regardless of the physical consequences,
Time after time.
Why take such a high amount of punishment,
For such a low percentage shot?
Because he is a defenseman,
Who plays with pride,
For the Los Angeles Kings…
Tom Allen…02-24-2017…
He took the hit,
He could see him coming,
Straight for him,
Out of the corner of his eye,
Hard and fast.
Both the puck and the defender,
We’re going to arrive at the same time.
They were down 2-0,
Late in the 3rd,
When he stretched out his body,
And with his stick,
Stopped the puck,
From crossing over the blue line,
And chipped it towards,
Some open ice in the slot,
Where the left winger streaking in,
Redirected it towards the net,
Right before his world went silent.
He was still conscious,
As he lay on the ice,
His helmet teetering on the ice,
3-feet in front of him.
The whistle blows stopping play,
After the goalie had slid,
From his left to his right,
To cover the wide open net,
And deflect the puck,
Up and over the glass.
He slowly pulls himself,
Up and off the ice.
The silence being replaced with,
A low monotone hum.
He can see the players on the bench,
Tapping their sticks,
On the rink wall in front of them,
A small token of admiration,
For his skill and sacrifice.
Through clenched teeth,
And sweat filled eyes,
He gives his teammates a nod,
To let them know he’s alright,
As he takes a seat on the bench.
He steadies his breathing,
And pushes back on the pain.
His team still down 2-0,
But he’ll be ready for his next shift,
And he’ll make that same play,
Regardless of the physical consequences,
Time after time.
Why take such a high amount of punishment,
For such a low percentage shot?
Because he is a defenseman,
Who plays with pride,
For the Los Angeles Kings…
Tom Allen…02-24-2017…