Marriage

"Marriage is a curse,"
says the PTA mother,
shackled to her pompous husband's side as gremlins squeal at her feet,
wishing she had taken that promotion and moved to Wisconsin before she met Eric.
"Marriage is a blessing,"
says the old sailor,
clutching to his wife's arm like the prow of his old ship,
now nearly blind, but she's a lighthouse,
a beacon in the dark.
"Marriage is a privilege," 
say Frank and Jacobs,
well into their sixth decade of what can only be described as true love,
who traded vows six years ago on the White House lawn and sobbed sweet tears.
"Marriage is unnecessary,"
says Gladys,
five shoddy husbands behind her and never once looked back,
happy to sip tea and gossip with people a quarter of her age,
who sends sarcastic Christmas greetings to Leonard and Rory every holiday.
"Marriage is terrifying,"
says the girl,
barely sixteen but needs to get out of the house,
knowing she'll regret this later but has to protect herself now.
"Marriage is fun,"
say the young honeymooners
who spend hours on the beach and in the sand,
drinking in each other's laughter and company,
who tango every night in each other's arms.