On Being Solo
Some days it seems all the couples
are the perfect couple.
Old people hold hands in the street and you know
those hands have found each other so easily
every day for years
Or young couples smile with possibility
amazed to have found someone who looks at them
that way when they look at them
And on these days your own edges
tingle in their extremity
your fingers dangle
into the cool space around them.
One could run a knife around you on these days
a baker’s trick to loose a cake from its tin
or pass a hoop over the length of your hovering body
as a magician might
to prove there are no strings attached
the illusion will be real.
Other days the couples walk
with thickening space between them
faces set with contradiction
or even anger
justified in their tones of voice and sharp opinions
an argument that could go on for days or
even more disconcertingly
be forgotten in an instant.
On these days too the air
can touch every surface of your own self
lift and let loose your hair
you smile knowing everyone
and no one cares how you feel
not enough to haul you up on it at the traffic lights
but enough to let you own it
let it float past you in whatever city
whatever street you desire to be in.