Onion.


People used to call me onion,
said I always made them cry,
that I was cruel
after one or two.

I like to believe
it wasn’t true.

Once upon a night too many
I was fumbling drunk,
tumbled down the sharp-edged steps
in short-cut alley.

Now they don’t call me onion anymore
when they come
to see me
all tubed up and comatose.

I can’t answer them back
like I used to.
I’d love to tell them to go and shite
instead of constantly
looking at their watches.

I heard them whispering tonight -
said I’d always be a vegetable.