Shame

Free hair, furrowed forehead, arid face,
bowing out, "you've won", but have I lost?
"Miss?" no reply, "what a mess" says she,
wave my hands with a mighty thrust,
but her eyes block out the pain, the interaction.

Like a censored scene, a show on mute,
"I'm sorry" is only "-'- ----"
and the fuss of old cell networks winding through rock,
is the sole noise even to the ready listener.