day FOURTEEN HUNDRED and TWENTY FOUR

Hate 

for Donald

It has taken me two decades
to cultivate my mind.
Tilling this baked clay
from educational fiasco.
I break hand tools
before resorting to a Kango.
White finger making,
head shaking, back breaking
efforts to let go.
I mulch in kindness.
Surface dress with love,
caress my forgiveness.

I have not hated for years.
I grub out those weeds,
ripping out the roots.
No fresh shoots survive.
What is this alien species
that slips past my defences.
An orange stained disgrace
spreading vile runners,
infecting every waking hour.
I accept this bloom of hate
may wither in November chills
but these seeds will linger.

-- Linnet Phoenix