Knowing things

You should know these things:
first,
that love is not enough,
two,
that the moon is simply a rock.

Because
you go through life as an unwilling ghost,
unseen in the subway,
unheard in the stock exchange floor.
You cry your salty tears
while lunching from a tin
a bowl of cold tomato soup,
alone,
on a bench
in a park
quiet as dead wood.

You look down to some sign,
with knife
someone carved a heart.
Two capital letters joined by an ‘&’.

Your own name doesn’t go with any of those initials.
You cry some more.

But
you should know these things.
It is not the first time your heart is broken.
It won’t be the last.

Laugh you should,
enjoy the tickling of life
through veins
you should.
Have some more tomato soup.
This you should know,
and you do.

Knowing things,
at least two.