Matched

I see them.
The two mismatched,
who are matched.
He, the shaggy,
craggy "man mountain"
or "gentle giant".
Now smiling at
the conversation
with the academic,
thin and pale.
Wielder of stiletto questions
"Who says?" and "So what?",
now actually laughing,
as though her
summer dress has
floated her to
some sunlit field.
Then I see that
his shirt is the same
green as the dress.
And their sandals are the same style,
and that when they laugh,
they look at each other.
So it is me who does
not belong and
I am the looker-on.
And this is good.