Sonnet From the Porch, I Guess
How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.
I hate thee to the depth and breadth and height
That I could see myself starting a fight
And leaving indentations on your face.
I hate thee to the level of everyday's
Most urgent need, by porcelain tank of white.
I hate thee freely, as men leave the lid upright;
I hate thee purely, as they hate ballets.
I hate thee like a cat hates to be spayed.
I hate thee more than carb-cutters hate bread.
I hate thee more than rain hates a parade
And even more than toddlers wet the bed.
I hate thee more than hate hates Haterade
I shall but hate thee more until you're dead.
Sent as a joke to poetry.com