mouse hockey


    I first saw the phrase
    in the title of her note;
    I’d never thought of it.
    I’m sure it’s old news
    in Toronto and Alberta
    where they’ve moved
    beyond poker-playing
    dogs to a world where
    mice come out checking,
    skating, slap-shotting,
    even riding the little
    Zamboni, while rodent
    fans toss back a couple
    beers between periods.

    Now I’m wide awake,
    during dreaming hours,
    playing this thing out
    in my mind as though
    there were somewhere
    to go when all I’m doing
    is setting myself up for
    someone to ask why
    I’m tired. “Mouse Hockey,”
    I’ll say, straight-faced
    and hope they can push
    past the poker pups
    to the frozen fortunes
    of mice on ice.


    P. S. — There’s a new recipe.

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