by Ryn Gargulinski
When I chop
green onions I
think of you the
technique you learned in
cooking school about
peeling off the layers to get to
the good stuff nestled deep
inside – when I
said it wastes half the onion you asked
did I like such things that were
scratchy and bland – which is what
happened to our relationship we
stopped laughing stopped trusting you
pretended to have a job at some restaurant but just
hid around the corner as I took the
train to work – but some
fond stuff is still
nestled deep inside – in that
tasty plump core called
nostalgia.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment