A Parody of Tolerance

That hunk of metal sitting on a stone
memorializes who? A man? A woman?
You object to my very question.
Not who but what you say.
An idea. A belief.
Buried, but just below the surface.
Its rotting toe protruding.
Stinking up your manicured garden.
Tear it down! Erase its words.
Words are killing me.
But I love you. Don’t you want to hear that?
What good is love when hope is gone?
Destruction is launched not with a button push,
but with a word.