Thursday Wonderland Adult Hockey Team

My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Some times he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy, the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

The Entrance

As we walk from the parking lot towards the rink
There is an entrance that makes us all think
Our evening of fun begins through the door
Where tripping and hacking is what we adore

After hours of pretending that we are all pros
Our lack of stick skills is what's really exposed
We change in the lockers, head through that same door
Out to the night where we argue the score

You block us from rain, the wind and the snow
Weaving stories worthy of Henry David Thoreau
Ingesting copious amounts of hop flavored brews
Each one of us taking our turn to amuse

How many nights have we hung out in front?
Probably too much to be perfectly blunt
The chairs are all comfy the people all fun
By now we've forgotten had dark or white won