Konch Magazine - Being an Onion Sucks by Kellyn Borst
Poem #4 “Being an Onion Sucks”
Kellyn Borst
Diversity Studio: Poetry among the Arts
Instructor:  Ishmael Reed
The kitchen walls are quite ugly today,
My owner painted them last week when she brought me home.
That stain of yellow makes me want to puke.
The potato chilling next to me will chuckle at my comments.
It’s the least we can do to get our minds off the boiling water inside the pot above us.
Makes me wish I was still inside that rolled up paper bag,
And just when I was beginning to yearn for fresh air too.
This really sucks, but hell being an onion already sucks.
Ugh…what is that?
Oh! Not again.
There’s a f**king itch crawling up my spine.
I have no arms so I can’t bloody reach it.
I stumble forward a bit.
The potato laughs when I shuffle awkwardly to the left of the shelf.
Agh…I can’t get it.
The potato feels it necessary to point that out too.
“Your bulb is showing,” the potato shouts.
I gripe and spit at him.
I try to spin around so that my bulb will tuck back under me.
The itch creeps upward with all my movement.
I lose it when I felt the makings of a green eye starting to sprout.
As if three of them wasn’t bad enough already?
The bulb brushes under me as I roll backwards.
The potato catches me just in time.
So now there’s this itch on my face
But I still have no arms,
So I can't scratch the f**kin’ thing
It crawls up my one eye
The potato could not decide whether to chuckle at my expense or pity me.
I was glad there were no mirrors on this side of the kitchen.
I won’t have to look at those ugly green sores once they grow in.
I felt hideous today as it was, what with my bulb kind of showing.
Damn produce guy didn't clip all of it off before I was bagged and tagged.  
The whole process of leaving the produce department offends me.
I get prodded on my way out before I'm stabbed and plucked.
After that they wash me with the water pressure of a goddamn fire hose.
If that wasn't enough I get tossed in a bin with forty other onions screaming at the top of their lungs.
Anyway, I ramble.
By the way, did I mention that being an onion sucks?
“I love you when you’re grumpy,” my potato friend shouts to me.
I gripe again.