…and why do I hate her

…and why do I hate her?
She’s got the pinched face of a traitor
A liar
A fraud
She bleeds brown from the corners of her mouth
which wraps around her chalky skull filled with cobwebs connected to cunning
threads pulling her eyes this way and that
I hate her and I always will
And I will not hold onto it
This hate
As some have said
I simply will
I simply always will
Hate her
But not simply
I will hate her for all my days
I will give great parties in the name of my hate
And people
Friends
Will come to these parties and love me in spite of my hate
They will pity me for my hate
My friends
Pity me for my hate
…and why do I hate her?

Wine and Groucho Marx

I really wouldn’t
I really couldn’t
I really shouldn’t
But here I am
With my glass raised aplomb
Feeling quite dignified in my reasoning
Why it was God who gave it to us was it not?
Of course following that logic, did not he, the inventor of hunger, sickness, death and war
Also have his hand in the making of summers and Groucho Marx?