THE RACE

Ready       Set       Go
And she explodes into
the downhill dash to the house,
dark hair lifted from her head
by the breeze of her flight.
One Rule: I must give her the usual
head start commensurate with
a margin appropriate to a four-
year-old racing against
her father of thirty-five.
The distance between us narrows,
her arms and legs pump like pistons.
The finish line -- our driveway --
awaits a winner.  This time
she wins, or thinks she does.
I will let her revel in her victory,
knowing, as she does not, that
no matter who gets there first,
I win every time,
each and every time.