As I watch Love Island,
as I partake in my Rosé and Cheez-Its,
as my daughter scrolls through her newsfeed,
as she tells me she can’t believe
that I watch this shit–
You have reached a new low
that this is every night,
that these guys are all so douchey,
as she tells me that her friend Brooke hooked up
with a guy last night off a sugar daddy app,
that her other friend Sarah is pregnant and
her parents are actually happy about it and–
look she posted a picture of the ultrasound
The father is not in any picture.
As she tells me one of her roommates
has this guy sleep over all the time
who she swears is thirty-five–
It is awkward when he comes downstairs and eats breakfast shirtless.
He is hot though.
As she assures me that girls
use guys for sex too,
that people don’t really date anymore,
that dick pics are actually a thing,
as I almost miss who America voted to keep,
as the two new guys face elimination,
[I can’t remember their names.]
Omg… Have you heard of this?
as she shoves her iPhone in my face,
as I read that two baby anaconda
were born into an exhibit
that has only adult females,
as I Google during commercial nonsexual reproduction,
that lizards and sharks and birds
develop females without fertilization too–
even when there are males available for the taking.
As I wonder if Zach and Elizabeth will make
it to the end of the show,
as Kyra labors whether or not
to tell Cashel she is just not that into him,
as Kelsey canoodles with Weston behind Katrina’s back,
as Karo channels Cardi B’s baby voice
and spills the tea to anyone
who pretends to listen,
as all the boys dig her body–
but she can’t quite get a coupling
and there is going to be recoupling/decoupling/no coupling
in the villa,
as the losers tears birth on their bikinis,
even though they have just met
each other last week or yesterday.
