The Tell-Tale Drop

The air outside had teeth,

a thick, hot, humid wreath

around my head. The bus,

a slow, metallic fuss

of heat and strangers.

Then, the door slides open, dangers

of public cool, a sudden blast.

And that's when it comes, too fast,

a cold, thin ribbon down my back,

a slow, insidious, damp track.

I feel it pooling at the waist,

a small, undeniable taste

of vulnerability. My shirt,

a darker shade where it was hurt

by heat, by effort, by the rush

to get here. I feel a flush

of shame, a slight, unwelcome sheen

on my upper lip, easily seen.

A private thing, made public now,

a small betrayal, somehow.

My body, always telling truths

I haven't quite yet learned to soothe.