The Imaginative Ladies:

pink gallop of boiled onions,
eeyo, we who have hurled you here,
skin into water
in our temporary kitchens,
I know that greater armies have used you
for matters beyond my burning,
that cliffs have grown eyes and fallen upon enemies
larger than I,
and yet, tonight,
forgive me,
I have use for you
like a stockbroker with a glazed-eyed client,
you will do for me,
this one hell of a cold
in a grey dripping building
full of old hags who frown upon
bottlebreath and typewriter tap,
I say, onion, old girl,
to hell with them all:
Jones in 302, Vichorione in 305,
I will eat you
but please don’t scream
for their busy minds
will once again think
that
my own personal country
has once again
gone down.

Author
Charles Bukowski