Half past midnight is the hour when a mind with nothing to do starts to turn on itself, and this speaker lets us sit in that hour with no decoration at all. The poem is built as a loop. It opens with "Its half past midnight" and closes on the identical line, so after all the dreaming, hugging and watching, the clock has not moved. That frame is the poem's first comment on loneliness: time stuck in place, with a mind circling inside it.
The first real idea is a borrowed one, the saying that if you are awake at night, someone is dreaming of you. The speaker dismisses it flatly: "I dont believe that / Because no one thinks of me." The reasoning is bleak but tidy. Then comes the most delicate moment, a line of three words that turns the poem: "Unless you do." It is half hope, half dare. For a second the saying might apply after all, but only to one person, the "you" the whole poem is aimed at. The speaker's sleeplessness becomes a question put to someone who may not know it is being asked. The next line reverses the roles again: "I dream of you alot." The speaker was hoping to be dreamed of, and is the dreamer instead.
The dreams are described in plain gerunds: "Hugging each other / Being next to each other." There are no tenses to anchor them and no scenery, only closeness, and the repeated "each other" insists that the affection runs both ways. That mutuality is exactly what the waking speaker cannot be sure of. Then the poem breaks: "Sometimes its a nightmare." The nightmare is not a different subject but the same longing with a barrier added. The "you" is behind a glass wall, being "beaten up," "torn apart," "left in tears." The repeated "getting" makes the sufferer entirely passive, someone things happen to, while the speaker can only "stand there and watch." The escalation from violence to something quieter, being left in tears, is clever, because the worst harm is abandonment, and the speaker is helpless against that too.
Glass is an exact choice of image. You can see through it, so nothing is hidden, but you cannot touch or reach across it. The closing explanation is almost circular: "I cant do anything / Because you are on the other side if the glass wall." The wall is both the problem and the only reason given, as if the speaker's mind keeps pressing against it. Whether the wall stands for physical distance, an ended relationship or something unspoken, the poem leaves open. Reading it as a phone or computer screen is tempting, but that would be our guess, and the text does not say it.
The form carries the same rawness. There is no rhyme and no regular rhythm, only short lines that fall like thoughts arriving one at a time. Punctuation and most apostrophes are missing ("Its," "cant," "dont"), and a couple of slips ("seenig," "if" for "of") remain. Whether deliberate or not, the effect is of something typed in the dark rather than polished at a desk, and that suits a poem about being too tired and too raw to tidy anything. The one long line, the saying about dreaming, sprawls across the page, like a thought the speaker has turned over many times.
The title adds a puzzle. "I Threw the Supermarket Flowers From the Windowsill" describes an act that never appears in the poem itself. We might infer that the flowers were a gift meant for the "you," cheap, ordinary and bought in a hurry, and that throwing them away was a gesture of giving up or of anger. That is only an inference from the title. Still, a windowsill belongs to a window, and a window is glass. The speaker who tosses flowers out of one pane in the title is the same speaker who is shut off by another in the dream.
What makes the poem worth reading is its honesty about a very ordinary pain: lying awake, rehearsing someone's absence, wanting to be thought of in return. It does not resolve or console, and it ends where it began. The final "Its half past midnight" is therefore not a tidy ending but a sentence the speaker cannot escape.