I suffer from a disease that goes by the name of Loneliness. It's an ancient affliction; some sick kind of curse, and those who know it best often boast: it's the worst.
But every now and then, I look around me to see some fat cow in the company of a dead-eyed chudd - spewing out a slew of inanities for lack of the cud. He finally shuts her up with a kiss on the mouth, as they walk off hand in hand.
I think to myself: "How in the hell did they find a cure, but I can't?"
Then I go over the middle lines of this poem again and think, "Oh. Right . . . "