The conversation


He is already holding the door open for me.
I hesitate and fumble with the buttons on my coat,
again nothing was said.
My feet are facing the wrong direction.
How do I get out of here?
This is of no use, I ignore  his timely 
held out hand and leave almost tripping, 
while I say what I don't want to say.
He is standing in the door looking aside,
his faint smile already passed goodbye.
The big window mirrors my departure.
When I turn around at the gate
I see myself: looking like a fool, I think.