The Couples

by Edward O’Dwyer

Look around. It’s nothing but couples
in love now that you’re alone.

You just want them to stop it,
give over flaunting their perfect happiness

their embraces, their handholding,
all that streetcorner tongueknotting.

That lingering gaze stuff,
not looking where they’re going.

That nauseating justusallaloneintheuniverse
obliviousness of theirs

to cars honking horns and screeching brakes,
to the beepbeepbeep of the green man

signalling them to cross
but, of course, they’re in no hurry,

have all their lifetimes together for that.
Can they not see that you’re hurting?

Can they not see each sweet little nothing whispered
and every trifling touch stolen between them

gives another twist ever so slowly
to the knife losing love has left in your chest?