The Unseen Flinch

The grocery line moved, slow, thick with heat.

Heard the sharp word, saw the woman shrink,

a sudden fold in her shoulders, a quick beat

of shame across her face. Made me think.

Remembered the way a joke landed flat,

a snide aside, meant to sting, to stick.

My own voice, a blade beneath the hat

of casual banter. It made someone sick,

or worse, just small. A tightening in their gut.

I never saw the actual tear or bruise.

Just the quick withdrawal, the door shut

in on itself. The quiet, I could not lose

that sound of absence. I was the hand unseen,

the one that made them pull back, thin and mean.