Hopscotch In Metal Poem by Patti Masterman

You always see vignettes in traffic;
there she is again, Some Brave Soul,
waving and pressing her luck,
accomplishing a turn of one hundred and eighty degrees,
against the normal flow of traffic.
Somehow making a human contact
in the midst of all those gas-chugging autos,
rumbling and farting out their noxious vapors,
high on octane and coal-tar,
their glassy eyes keyed only to the next car in line.

She too seeking that all-important eye contact,
and the motioning that comes afterward
if her luck holds:
Go ahead; I'll wait, it's clear this side,
You can stake your life on my truth-
As she weaves and tic-tac-toes, through jostling lanes of cars
with the studied ease as if she'd been planning it for months,
accomplishing impossible maneuvers
in an impromptu chess move on sticky asphalt.

I never try impossible things when driving:
I've never been able to trust any other human that much.