The Second I Saw It

Heard a phrase on some dumb show tonight,

and it hit me, flat and cold.

Like that time at the register, under the too-bright

lights, a story I'd better leave untold.

I made a joke, not even mean,

just thoughtless, about his hair.

Saw it, just a flicker, on his face, so keen

a disappointment, a slight despair.

He smiled then, professional, thin.

But I saw it, that second, the way he shrank.

And I carry it now, that small, sharp sin.

That casual cruelty. The silence after it sank.