Feigning the obvious

He told the story thick with holes—

words piled like empty glasses,

the cheap scotch sweating beside us,

untouched.

I nodded slow,

smiled the right smiles,

pretending not to see the cracks

in the story’s floor,

pretending the truth was out of reach.

But the lie hung in the air

sticky and obvious,

and I held my silence,

letting it pass,

not because I believed,

but because some things

are easier left unclaimed.