The Pleasures of Hating
by Laure-Anne Bosselaar
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I hate Mozart.
Hate him with that healthy pleasure
one feels when exasperation has crescendoed,
when lungs, heart, throat,
and voice explode at once: I hate that!—
there's bliss in this, rapture.
.
My shrink tried to disabuse me,
convinced I use Amadeusas a prop:
Think further, your father perhaps?
I won't go back,
think of the shrink
with a powdered wig, pinched lips, mole:
a transference, he'd say, a relapse: so be it.
.
I hate broccoli, chain saws, patchouli, bra—
clasps that draw dents in your back, roadblocks,
men in black kneesocks, sandals and shorts—
I love hating that.
Loathe stickers on tomatoes, jerky, deconstruction,
nazis, doilies. I delight in detesting.
And love loving so much after that.
.
by Laure-Anne Bosselaar
.
I hate Mozart.
Hate him with that healthy pleasure
one feels when exasperation has crescendoed,
when lungs, heart, throat,
and voice explode at once: I hate that!—
there's bliss in this, rapture.
.
My shrink tried to disabuse me,
convinced I use Amadeusas a prop:
Think further, your father perhaps?
I won't go back,
think of the shrink
with a powdered wig, pinched lips, mole:
a transference, he'd say, a relapse: so be it.
.
I hate broccoli, chain saws, patchouli, bra—
clasps that draw dents in your back, roadblocks,
men in black kneesocks, sandals and shorts—
I love hating that.
Loathe stickers on tomatoes, jerky, deconstruction,
nazis, doilies. I delight in detesting.
And love loving so much after that.
.
(Never gave this much thought to things I hate. But this is interesting. Brocolli is to burn in hell right now - anyone who takes coumadin will understand. I like jerky, and think men with white cotton socks and sandles and shorts look pretty funny. Maybe because I've never seen Joe in a pair of shorts, except swim trunks. Actually funnier are men in a suit with white cotton socks.)
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