A short poem from Judith Taylor revels in the fleeting moment of personal interactions where rude behaviour turns into a moment of shame.
Blink and you’ll miss it:
that fleeting moment
of regret, when it dawns on Schrodinger’s Asshole
that no-one’s laughing
and they’re going to have to work a little
on damage limitation.
Those few brief seconds they’re
genuinely sorry
– not for the act, of course.
Just for the getting caught
