Trust
(that slippery eel)
Asks you to come out and play.
You lean back from the window thinking
--Do I want to? Should I? Should I...?

But the house is empty,
And wouldn't you rather hop scotch out the door
Than be alone?

The street is slick.
Trust leans close
For one taste
One one kiss
Then:
--Race you to the STOP sign!
(And because you want it bad)
You go skidding after.

But it doesn't stop there
And neither do you.
You go go go
Around the corner,
Through blinking traffic lights,
Because wouldn't you rather hop scotch out of town
Than be alone?