Afterthoughts

You hate that sick smirk.
those eyes that feed on your imperfections.
You know it's coming even as it's brewing in his head.
you shrink in preparation.
You keep walking,
Eyes on him, waiting.

He's there behind you, him and his rudeness.
You walk away angry with yourself.
I could have asked "Does it matter?"
or told "Mind your own business".
No, I couldn't have said that.
I could have pretended to not have heard and walked away.
But there would be no satisfaction of disapproval, would there?
Something witty, perhaps?
Like what?
I don't know.
Maybe,
just "Ok.So?"
Yea. That's sounds like I don't care.
Much better.

But now I'm more angry with myself.

Why didn't I think of that before?