View from a Bridge

Into the brown, soupy river,
from purple-painted steel,
he tossed bits of paper.

He shuffled his feet on concrete,
felt the rocks beneath rubber soles,
sighed at lonely pathways
that laid themselves
in his head
from this day forward.

He heard a clatter,
turned to look,
and saw a couple.
One had trashed something
in a purple, metal can
with a fervent toss
of obvious anger.

The woman looked irritated,
the man, forelorn -
no voice to their frustration,
only silence.
The strain he made to hear
what wasn't said
tightened down in his thighs.
He thought his strained muscles
might rip the seams
of his black trousers,
but his attention was rapt.

He turned his head to watch
as they passed
from his left to his right.

Even their obvious fight
strained his heart
with a desperate jealousy.

He turned his head back
to the last scrap
of the last photo
of his last love,
and tossed this, too,
over the purple rail.