2 > 1 Poem by Noah Smits

As we descend this stairwell,
two lovers mock and play.
Each laugh augments the nuisance.
They're standing in my way.

I linger back and mutter
with footfalls shrewd and slow,
as hoofbeats jibe with braying
on trails through Mexico.

"Come on! " exclaims the woman,
upon her glance behind.
Her interjection echoes
the grievance of my mind.

From posture bowed and sprawling,
resultant from their jest,
they take the next stair upright,
then likewise all the rest.

A muted, sullen couple
departs in awkward calm.
My shame now mocks me hotly
on forehead, cheeks, and palms.

A growing separation
between the Two and I,
from their presumptive hurry
to ditch this wretched guy,

allows their laughter pardon.
Their shrieks once more may ring
back through the halls of Boyle;
back to our tension's spring.

I grieve the role my presence
has played in spoiling fun,
and long to join a Two—how
much better ‘tis than One.