The man on the blades,
gliding against ice with sequinsed outfits
and 80s fluffy brown tufts of hair.
Back flipping heydays,
chipping the white surface,
beads of sweat,
puffing and heaving,
Through tights, glitter and miscellaneous material
of those eccentric capade ensembles.
A concerto astride a triple axel,
the crowd holding their breath,
the intensity of that split second
resulting in elegance,
or the dreaded ass plunging impact
Determining numeric echoes.
I decided to write about Scott Hamilton because I’ve never given him much thought since childhood, when my brother and I would watch his commentatorship of figure skating competitions. We were both jocks, and kind of scoffed at figure skating, although we kept watching for hours at a time. What I tried to work with in this poem is using the space of the page that reflects the elegant movement of ice skating. Even though it’s a very rough first draft, I’m satisified with breaking out of my comfort zone and really thinking about the different elements of presenting poems on the page through format.