A Hand Not Taken

He was just a kid, really,

pale face on the subway platform,

flyer crinkled in his fist.

He asked a man in a suit,

a man who smelled of expensive cologne

and impatience.

The businessman,

he didn't even pause,

just a flick of the wrist,

like shooing a fly,

and the kid's whole world,

that crumpled hope,

spun down to the tracks.

A shuffle of feet,

an indifferent tide,

and the moment was gone.