Bonus Exhibition Game

After Beer-Leaguing

BY ROBERT FROST, adapted by me

My long two-edged skates cutting

through the shinny

Toward heaven still, 

And there's a biscuit in the basket that I didn't fill 

Beside it, and there may be two or three 

Apples I didn't set up to my beer browl. 

But I am done with apple-tricking now. 

Essence of winter sleep upon hockey night, 

The scent of spent salts: I am drowsing off. 

I cannot rub the lettuce from my sight 

I got from looking through the sin-bin glass 

I facewashed this evening due to the drinking trough 

And held against the world of a suicide pass. 

It turtled, and I let those chiclets break. 

But I was well 

Upon my way to celly before I fell, 

And I could tell 

What form my dreaming was about to take. 

Magnified apples appear and disappear, 

Plug ins and stay at home defensemen, 

And every silky snipe showing clear. 

My instep arch not only keeps the ache, 

It keeps the pressure of a new boot-round. 

I feel the hoser prey as our twigs bend. 

And I keep hearing from the pidgeon

The gongshow sound 

Of load on load of apples coming in. 

For I have been Kronwalled too much 

Of apple-tricking: I am overtired 

Of the great bar down I myself desired. 

There were ten thousand cheese to touch, 

Lumber in hand, lift down, and avoiding a fall. 

For all 

That ice clapper from earth, 

No matter when bruised or lip lettuce as stubble, 

Went surely to the garbage-apple heap 

As of no worth. 

One can see what will trouble 

This dangle of mine, however dirty it is. 

Were he not gone, 

The duster could say whether it's like his 

Long sleep, as a yardsale its coming on, 

Or just some hockey sleep.