I Uber my way across the country
in my Hugh Hefner silk pajamas
to study happiness in marriages
of all my old friends who are still
walking and talking coherently.
Computer porn ended a few bonds
that had once bloomed like a flower.
For those that served breakfast in bed,
a lotus blossom was de rigueur for a Buddhist
notion of purity, harmony and grace.
They smiled for the happy ending of desert,
delighted with their 5 and 10 cent wedding ring.
It was worth every penny as they hugged each other
with endless words of endearment, such as:
“You are my one and only tootsie-wootsie!”
The crankiest couples no longer engaged
in conversations—merely ranted about
how their mates didn’t listen to them.
The most miserable couples were victims
of the corrosive impact of the rusted
barbed wire of prolonged celibacy.