Mike Crowl's Poems in Process

That smell, it lingers ever yet; I know it's onions. My wife thinks perhaps I haven't washed today, Nor used deodorant. I know it's onions. My mother wonders if it's olive oil; I know it's not oil at all - I know it's onions. My child says Dad, you smell! I know it just as well - I know it's onions. Oh, onions, onions, everywhere, They steep my skin, Invade my hair, Their fragrance filters every lair. I knows my onions.

14/11/2004

Back to Poems in Process