(Poem #251)Song to Onions
They improve everything, pork chops to soup, And not only that but each onion's a group. Peel back the skin, delve into tissue And see how an onion has been blessed with issue. Every layer produces an ovum: You think you've got three then you find you've got fovum. Onion on on— Ion on onion they run, Each but the smallest one's some onion's mother: An onion comprises a half-dozen other. In sum then an onion you could say is less Than the sum of its parts. But then I like things that more are than profess— In food and the arts. Things pungent, not tony. I'll take Damon Runyon Over Antonioni— Who if an i wanders becomes Anti-onion. I'm anti-baloney. Although a baloney sandwich would Right now, with onions, be right good. And so would sliced onions, Chewed with cheese, Or onions chopped and sprinkled Over black-eyed peas: Black-eyed, grey-gravied, absorbent of essences, eaten on New Year's Eve peas. |