Deking the Deer

Long past mid-night,

traveling through winter’s dark,

following the snake-back of Draper Road.

Trees…telephone poles…rat-a-tat past,

I’m at least 30km over legal,

reliving the game—the pass

that scored

the only goal.

Sweat dries on my spine as

the blood cools.

There he is: straddling the centre line,

a six-point buck of a d-man,

ready to go, caught

large in the lights.

White-crested jersey

in my face.

We make our moves, no

sticks on the ice.

He wheels left: I deke right,

in a dangle that would have

done Messier proud.

Sweat collects on my spine as

the adrenaline rips…

by Cathy Yard

Words In Motion 2014