Why do I believe every fool
who in his custard smooth voice
tells me he’s about to
do me a favor
grant some royal request
help me in a beehive frantic moment
find my way home
or park my car
in the lemon light of safety
on a scary street
just because he has some
phony reflective vest
and a walkie-talkie—
Or was that just an old cell phone?
and when I give up all I have
the precious currency taped
up under the dashboard
waiting for an unplanned
emergency
I create the very violation
I avoided,
my rapid trust
betrayed as I wait for my change.
The lot was free.
5-12-05
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