The Pleasures of Hating

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 Amadeus

as 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.


  1. Very different and very delightful.

  2. Stickers on tomatoes--absolutely! Hate those, enjoyed the poem.

  3. I almost wore sandals with socks this morning...would've been the first time ever...and a symptom of just how bad my footwear crisis has gotten. Need to buy new shoes really badly...I hate that...

  4. Funny the things we hate, and love to hate, and hate to love....

  5. Just been catching up with your posts :-).. there's some pretty intense gems in here... I especially like this one, not many poems that are specifically about hating stuff!.. good luck with the forthcoming lecture.. oh, and your peeps are just fine, brill in fact.. it's just the red-tape paperwork and gross lack of fellow workers they have to contend with!.. We figured out the one doc from a.e had worked at least a 15 hour shift!

  6. Oh, I think I need this one on my office wall!

  7. Oooh. This one might go in the bank vault.

  8. Happy you enjoyed this poem -- and thanks for not hating it!


  9. What a pleasure for me that you didn't hate this poem!



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