HATE POEM WITHOUT A DROP OF HYPERBOLE IN IT

             after Traci Brimhall

I hate you like vampires hate garlic, like oils
hate water, like dinosaurs hate meteorites—
what I’d give for one to crater you. I hate you
more than pistachio nuts shut too tight
to pry open, or I hate you more than talking
on the phone, more than the zit globing
my forehead, ugliness that doesn’t compare
to you. I hate you so much that I hope
you always have an unscratchable itch, always
hear a police siren the second you lie down
for sleep. I hate you the way cellphones hate
holding charge, the way Titanic hates
the iceberg, the way the Supreme Court hates
women. I hate you so much I hope
your gums bleed no matter how often
you floss. I hate you like braces hate popcorn,
like snails hate salt, like worms hate wet tires
swerving over asphalt. I hope a pebble’s
always stuck in your shoe, a single strand
of hair always in your mouth. I hope
you can never sneeze, despite a big build-up.
I hate you like my cat hates water,
like my dog hates fireworks, like Texas
hates taxes. I hate you so much I hope
your car’s always out of gas, hope “My Heart
Will Go On” plays in your brain ad nauseam.
Let me be clear: I don’t wish you were dead.
I just want your coffee lukewarm, your pasta
overcooked, your stoplight always red.

---

Despy Boutris (@dbouts) is the author of the fiction chapbook Burials (Bull City Press, 2022) and also has work published or forthcoming in POETRY, Ploughshares, Copper Nickel, Colorado Review, American Poetry Review, and elsewhere. She is based in Los Angeles.