I'm sorry I led you
down to the water's edge
to the solid cracking of
icy frost slipping beneath
our boots.
It bounced and rolled on
as we set our gloves and hats
in rows across parallel
on two sides and prepared
to face off.
Flat-footed without blade nor
stick, a peculiar choice
of course. But for us it
was something new to break up
the days of sameness.
Until face connected with
solid water, the metal wiring
of you protruding through
red flesh as the blood began
to drip down.
Pooling, liquid on solid,
you would end up breaking
the father's art in your hurry
but nobody minded of course.
The only downside was what you missed.
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