This annoying woman
is the woman that I love.
The woman that I love is
annoying. You could say
my love and my annoyance
are one and the same
woman. And she would say
that I can be as annoying as
hell. She loves me too, you see.
It’s not that we love to annoy
each other — though we do
annoy each other, and we do
love each other too. It’s more like
we annoy each other out of love —
right out of love and almost
into the arms of another. But then
we love each other out of annoyance —
right out of annoyance and back
into love and each other’s arms.
If you have any comments on this poem, Paul Hostovsky would be
pleased to hear them.