The Onion

Sliced and chopped
And squeezed until you sneeze,
Tears rolling down the cheeks
And all you can do is sniff
Because wiping makes it worse,
And you end up wishing
It would stop, but know it won't 
As the damage is done,
So you say why did I ever start?
But the stove is on 
And the pan waits 
So the sneeze becomes a sizzle
As an aroma fills the air
And you can finally blow it all away. 
 
December 2024

While painting an onion!