Girls and Their Onions
Small town, broken window houses
dead roses hang in kitchens
leftovers of other women
who eat beef in dark rooms.
We are not like them.
Don't touch us, not ready.
Our oven mitts are on.
Men can knob themselves
while we grind knives.
We don't want to be under the pale man
who puts his spoon in his cheek and moans.
We are good girls. No need to explain
why roses hang stiff and feel soggy.
How many licks will it take
before we peel off our panties
like we strip onions for soup.
Men can guess, but dampness
is not a sign. Liquids leak
when the onion is hacked,
breaking cells and releasing
a distinctive odor on tips.
Copyright © Lyon Brave | Year Posted 2016
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