i hate the t.v, i hate how modern
love is depicted with such violence. the man
fights for the girl, they kiss in the rain and don’t talk
about their feelings, her makeup runs perfectly in symmetrical
lines down her flushed cheeks. there should be no silver screen.
i prefer to watch his hands touch the small of her
back, i prefer to romanticize the way he looks at her without
simply looking, the way she observes him
back and fists his hair.

the little fights about nothing, constructing the
imponderabilia of life as they know it,
he’s misunderstood when he brings home the wrong groceries-
the wrong brand of oat milk she despises,
in particular (the audience must know she likes Oatly).
the story isn’t as important as the way
her face fits the small frame of his camera as
he memorializes her forever in alkaline. she is happy
to be trapped, she is happy to be trapped even when her face
is indefinitely soured by the milk.

i hate the commercials and the way they make me feel
as though something is missing, as though my life
would be better with the newest vacuum cleaner model.
it wouldn’t. what if i liked the dust bunnies under
my couch? why should i replace memories with untainted novelty?
what an easy fix.

the guy always gets the girl, fights turning into nothing
with a touch. sometimes i wish that the wrong brand
of oat milk would create the right time - the
perfect storm - to mess up a relationship
forever. i would be mad about chalky oat milk,
too. i just hope they don’t call the on-screen
1-800 number for a dumb complementary vacuum.
it would be too real.