Hatred / by renee mckenna

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. 

Thank you. 

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

Like you.