Netflix saved my marriage,

or so it seemed.

But how many hours of Kimmy Schmidt
might mend
a broken thing?

How many hours of laughing
head to chest
feeling the shake
might balance
years of indifference?

I tore up that family—
shot in the bin.
Selfish cow!

I can hear them right now
watching Netflix
in lieu of playing
au jardin d’amour
with stones and dirt
with water, sand.

I kicked the rusty bucket
of our love;
watched it teeter
for a while

as we clung, each to each
in that marriage bed
looooong Sunday mornings
while the kids
watched

N. E. T. F. L. I. X.
It spells damnation

but I thought
it had saved us.