Unprepared I listen
Open like a mug waiting for a warm drink
To fill it up
But when the words come
they are shards of ice
Not English breakfast tea.
They cut me before I realized
That I should flip my mug
Like a wine glass turned over, to be pulled from the linen tablecloth by a waiter with a bow tie.
None for me tonight.
But I was unprepared for your hatred
splattered like gang graffiti on some poor grocer's window.
Defacing the glass with illegible letters meaning nothing to anyone
but the bitter and hateful