Zamboni

I tried to go to The Symphony

and ended up at a hockey game.

It seemed I had the date wrong.

The hockey game was next door.

It wasn’t bad: the boys were sharp:

the passes, crisp; footwork, fancy.

They were only a level below the best;

some not even that— the NHL.

I was getting tired of Mozart anyway;

moreover, tired of planning.

It was probably as good as I could have done:

Zamboni, my new favorite composer.