At Work, in Bars (Pride Poem)

What’s more painful, loneliness or stale love?
Can robust lust compensate for frail love?

With dating apps and self-help books, at work,
in bars, sad singles chase the grail of love.

Scrunched-faces, blood-streaked. Matted tufts of hair.
Newborns beautiful seen through the veil of love.

We’re drained by smoking, politics, and smog.
Replenish with meditation, kale, love.

My daughter and her friends wear rainbow clothes.
Cities raise flags. The mall’s got Pride for sale. Love

is love. Tell that to Turing, Wilde, beaten
Stonewall queens, couples who braved jail for love.

Can I do what Buddhism asks? Breathe in
the pain of those around me. Exhale love.

Tale of Two Cities. Canterbury Tales.
Twitching cat tail. Tale of woe. Tale of love.

More words to be wary of in poems —
Soul. Truth. Republican. Nightingale. Love.

Fingers brush skin, soft as the breath of earth-
bound angels. Tenderness. The Braille of love.

Inside Alison — Jean, Perry, pogroms.
Ellis Island dreams. Loss. Janet, Yale. Love.