It’s always them. You know, the “they”
Who find true love and make it stay —
You see them, strolling in the park,
Or hear them laughing, in the dark —

It’s always them. In perfect twos,
Not out here, being forced to choose
Between two losers: hope and chance.
The ideal date for every dance —

This puzzle, life, that they have solved?
It’s possible there’s work involved,
And what seems effortless takes sweat,
And nights upon a parapet —

I guess by now I ought to know:
The way’s not in some post, or show,
For it is time that makes a gem —
And clearly — think — they were not always

“Them”