The Unworn

It lay there in its folded peace,

a silent judgment, soft and new.

My hope for some small, fresh release,

a different person, good and true.

But something in the collar felt

too stiff, too neat, too much a lie.

A silent, slow regret just dealt,

beneath the store's indifferent sky.

I stood there in the returns line,

the plastic rustling, crisp and cold.

A small white flag, a sorry sign

of stories left, completely untold.

My money back, a bitter win.

The shirt unworn, a simple thing.

Just one more choice I couldn't spin

into the future it could bring.