predator

It was the smile and how he looked
at them that told them they were special,
somehow, or, at least, different than the others,
at a time when differences were important and
made them feel special, because that’s how they
wanted to feel, away from home and
more than a little bit lost. Others saw it, all of it, but
just washed it away. It wasn’t any of their
business, not then, anyway, though it would
eventually become everyone’s business, because
the predator eventually oversteps his mark and
everyone is sullied, if not branded.
By then, he feels invisible to any scrutiny, of course.
He feels
almost entitled to his prey.
And, then, by then, innocence has died, and everyone wonders
how it happened, even though it happened in front
of everyone, right there, and the next days and weeks
and maybe months are spent recounting, bringing back, all the
hints that everyone saw.
But the innocence can’t be recovered, dusted off,
and returned.
It’s gone, stolen by one, responsible to many.