It’s something in his tone, I think.
As always my apology is automatic;
rising in my throat but I quell it
at the eleventh second.
He doesn’t apologise,
just studies my face
with a look on his own resembling
You’re not that pretty.
I fight the urge to say
Instead I just stand there
mute and wounded,
feeling like a piece of abstract art
hung on a gallery wall
~~ June Briar Kelsey