Christina the Cheerleader

I just did a fun little exercise. I often check my blog stats on here, and I decided to put it to use. Well, I glanced at the hits on my blog from the past 24 hours, and I wrote down all of the titles that people hit. And I made a poem out of it. A little challenge. I never run out of ideas or things to write about. So, this is what came out of that. I thought I'd share it. I'll probably turn it into a short story. Just sharing some secrets to things that spark me. <3 C.A.

Christina the Cheerleader

In the middle
of group dessert,
Christina,
the cheerleader,
the special kind,
glances out
the window
and says, Good
morning, sky.
Slow reaction
begs for repetition.
Louder,
she announces,
Good morning, sky,
I believe you
are telling me
the time is eleven.
Even on holidays,
she is in the game,
noting her audience,
the score,
and the room,
watching the spread
of smiles.
And near her right
leg, two, anxious dogs
wait for a scrap
of pumpkin pie
from her, the chosen
carver, the guest
who dines with strange
neighbors, the festive,
welcoming folks
on the other end
of the cul-de-sac.
The mom responds,
Tell the truth.
Be the truth.
The dad says,
I’m just saying hello
and happy holidays.
Still in love
at 70 and 71,
both complain
of lost gloves.
Christina nods,
and the house
is quiet. Outside
of school,
back home,
most days are.
Quiet.
But just in case,
even in the shower,
she wears a whistle.

C.A. MacConnell