THE LOSS OF LOVE

ANOTHER SINGLE PERSON WAITS
IN THE DESPAIR OF SOME ROOM
OF EMPTINESS, WAITS TO BE CALLED,
INVITED INTO A CROWDED NIGHTCLUB,
WHERE THEY MIGHT BECOME HOPE
FOR OTHERS, OR, SIMPLY FADE
NOTHINGNESS—HAND LATCHED TO THE WHISKEY SHOT
LIKE UNCLE’S PASTIMES
CAUGHT IN THE LOUD ENVIRONMENT
OF A BAR DESIRING ASSOCIATION,
PARTNERSHIP, SOFT FUSION—
BUT NOT THIS SINGLE;
THEY DO NOT GET THE COMFORT
OF A BALLAD—A SONG THAT MAKES OUR OWN PROBLEMS
CHILDS PLAY, FRAGRANT EVEN AS WE DRIFT
INTO OBLIVION OF SELF-PITY.
THIS SOLITARY PERSON MUST SIT, MIND OPEN,
AMONGST THE BLAMED AND SHAMED
INDIVIDUALS IN HEARTBREAK, LOVELIFE,
LISTEN TO THE PEOPLE’S CHEERS BREAK THE SILENCE
AS A PARTY NEXT-DOOR VIBRATES THE WALL NEAR THEIR HEAD,
OPEN THE DOOR, ONLY TO STARE INTO THE HALLWAY
LONELY: BARE AND STARING BACK AT THEM
AS THOUGH SAYING IT’S SOMETHING
THAT REQUIRES IMPOSSIBILITY:
TO BE GRACED WITH THE PRESENCE LONGED FOR
—AS THOUGH THE HALL MIGHT SAY:
ON SUNDAY AFTER YOU ARGUED,
THE LOSS OF LOVE WAS FINALLY APPARENT
FROM THE WEIGHT OF THE DISPUTE;
THEY’LL NEVER LOOK AT YOU AGAIN.
OR THE SINGLE MIGHT SAY:
MY FAULT. THEY PART
HERE—THE SINGLE BACK INSIDE
IN THEIR COUCH’S EMBRACE, CARRIED BACK
TO SOLITUDE, AS THE HALL SAYS NOTHING
BECAUSE HALLS DON’T SPEAK, BESIDES
THIS ONE’S VACANT.