Do you remember Hockey?

When I was 10 years old
I would slouch, I would scream, I would growl
I hated waking up for the Hockey camp
The weather was cold
Sleep was gold-en

But the minute I strapped those shin-guards
and carried my Mustang second-hand stick
All my lethargy snapped back inwards
And all I could think about was hitting the ball

Scoop, dribble, hit, tap
Clasp your hands together
Hold em tight
I would tease the white ball gently with my hands
Beat, kick, push, miss
All the vulgarity spurned out
into vivacious hits.

Bloody battles, 10-year-olds
Beaten, muddied, soiled, spat on
By senior bully players.

And every time you go for a district tournament
You play with students from the interior towns
Of villages you have never heard of
you were bound to contract something unsound  

Hockey is dead. We killed it with our hands
No more do crass language, discouraging crowds
Curse you from the stands above

The stands are empty, the hollowness curses you plenty
That is the worst kind of insult
To any player
That will only result
To silent games. Unspoken extinctions have prevailed.

I remember a verbal volley
With an opponent one day
"See you next year" is what we said
I still await that day
Dying to meet my friend-enemy-nemesis again.