How Too Spot A Bad Person
A bad person smiles with polished teeth,
their words smooth stones skipping over dark water.
They lie without trembling,
because the lie has long ago become their skin.
The good man stumbles in falsehood,
his eyes turning toward the floor
as though truth were a wounded bird
crying beneath the boards.
For evil rehearses itself.
It studies mirrors,
learns the shape of kindness,
the proper nod, the measured grief.
But the decent soul—
he is awkward in deception.
His conscience leaves fingerprints
upon every sentence.
Beware the man
who never contradicts himself,
whose stories arrive too clean,
too sharpened, too ready.
The shadow often comes
dressed in confidence.
And goodness—
goodness is usually uncertain,
standing in the doorway
with muddy shoes and honest hands.
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