Autobiography of a Face (hour 10, 6:02pm)

He smiles, and utters

a strange muted sound.

His face does not reflect

his irritation.

He is bored,


wishing he were

somewhere else.

He squints his eyes,

and turns his mouth,

as in a smile.

Again, the sound.

Should I save him?

If I do not,

his anger will spill,

like his words,

over me, and consume

all the air

around him.



He will tell me later,

or the whole way home,

how this,

these moments,

listening to that person,

took away from him,

precious time;

time he will never get back.

I watch his face.

There is so much in him,

to love, to admire,

to respect.

This, is not

one of them.

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