Step right up, step right up!
A coin for a chance at the trembling cusp.
The seat is set, the lever waits,
A single shot will shift the fates.

You perch so high, so poised, so proud,
Barely breathing—tautly wound.
Lips unparted, nerves unseen,
But oh, I know where pressure keens.

A finger lingers, teasing slow,
Tracing circles soft as snow.
Do you feel the wooden creak?
The quiver tight beneath your seat?

The game is rigged—you know it’s true.
Each throw a taunt, a test of you.
A strike? A gasp. A stall? A plea.
Another round—you beg for three.

The air is thick, the crowd draws tight,
A hush beneath the neon light.
A flick, a snap, a sudden break—
A splash, a shriek, a hot mistake.

The water laughs, a cruel refrain,
Your breathless thrill, your flushed disdain.
Dripping, drowning, shame’s disguise—
And oh, the prize behind your eyes.

I toss the ball and watch it sink—
Your shudder sweet, your cheeks deep pink.
And here I stand, my aim still true,
For what’s more fun than toppling you?