it’s april.
it’s overcast.
and there’s this fucking couple walking by me
holding hands
smiling like six year olds
at a carnival
at the cotton candy stand
mouths watering
pupils dilated
bodies anticipating an avalanche of spun sugar

i hate them for their single-mindedness
the only thing in their world isn’t even each other
there is no we
there is me and my ornament,
me and my pet,
me and my mother
me and my steady hope
me and my cotton candy

if i threw a rock at them
it would bounce off of the place where their hands have met
their hands would break and bleed
but they would keep walking

see:
the cotton candy stand is within arm’s reach