The Perks of Companionship

My girlfriends tell me monogamy
          is the true life to lead

but I’ve seen the never made
          and sweat stained bed

sheets of my single friends who
          live their lives like a

fire bombing: frantic, consuming,
          irresponsible and

injurious to societal well-being.
          While the wind blows

their destruction to other cities, I
          look at them admiringly

and romanticize the want of a stranger
          bed. One that does

not bend beneath a nine to five
          husband (like mine)

whose love has grown soft in the
          wake of two children: a

daughter and son. At night when
          the trees brush about

and stab at the window sills,
          I often wish I were

born an Aries to declare war on
          mankind. Imagine,

vaginal corridors that sweep men,
          like dust, under

the frills of thick shag rugs.
          Instead of a welcome

mat, kempt and nubile, mine will
          be thick and rapt in tangles

that warn of terror. Uncertain threads
          would mimic the bob and

weave of a single soldier haplessly
          navigating the expanse

of an estranged mine field but then,
          then the men would

never let me sleep and I wouldn’t be
          getting emotionally

paid for those kind of lays. I suppose
          they’re right, my

girlfriends. I’m happy to be married
          to an over-worked

man whose deep, snore-heavy sleep
          means never having

to fake an orgasm