fresh ice, curtains raised.

costumes pressed and bleached

from last game’s

blood and teeth.

my brother and i

dare not discuss

what we are

both thinking,

what we and

18,504 other faithful

hold clutched

in our tiny

infant fists.

first intermission.

we grow restless.

we crunch on nachos

with a grumpiness not unlike

children trudging

up the gravel walk

to school on a monday.

second period power play.

set crew adjusts the

spotlight, knowing just where

the star will be.

as the supporting cast

gives their lines,

passing smoothly

between each other,

it is finally

his turn.

he delivers

goal number five hundred

with the same

precise destruction

as four hundred and ninety-nine others.

playbills

launch into the air

like graduation caps.

the other actors

forget their blocking

and rush the stage,

engulfing the captain,

the star,

the greatest of all time.

Nicole Hylton is a writer-of-all-trades originally from Southern Maryland. She writes poetry, short stories, nonfiction essays, and has completed two novellas, Internet Official and Dropping Her Gloves. Her work has appeared in Aethlon, Little Patuxent Review, Words and Sports Quarterly, and Wraparound South. Nicole received her MFA in Creative Writing from Northern Arizona University, where she also taught composition and creative writing. She lives in Flagstaff with her husband and their beloved one-eyed black cat.