
I come to the games.
But root for my girl.
As she rallies the crowd.
With a kick and a twirl.
I know all of her cheers.
And a few of her moves.
But whenever I show her.
She looks terrified. Bemused.
On weekends without games.
She enters competitions.
Frilly tents dot the landscape.
A bedazzled exposition.
I look on in amusement.
Bewildered at the display.
Should I offer to help?
Or stay the heck out of the way.
At home there are footprints.
On the walls, windows, and ceilings.
The result of handstands and roundoffs.
And endless cartwheeling.
I’m amazed at her determination.
Her skill and her grace.
I look forward to seeing her.
Cheering.
With a smile on her face.
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