GIRLS AND THEIR ONIONS

This is a poem about virginity, or not always being in the mood for sex. The body is a temple.

GIRLS AND THEIR ONIONS

Small town, broken window houses

dead roses hang in kitchens

leftovers of other women

who eat beef in dark rooms.

            

We are not like them.

Don't touch us, not ready.

Our oven mitts are on.

 

Men can knob themselves

while we grind knives.

 

We don't want to be under the pale man

who puts his spoon in his cheek and moans.

 

We are good girls. No need to explain 

why roses hang stiff and feel soggy.

 

How many licks will it take 

before we peel off our panties

like we strip onions for soup.

 

Men can guess, but dampness

is not a sign. Liquids leak

 

when the onion is hacked,

breaking cells and releasing

a distinctive odor on tips.

Reviews

[Barbara Borel]

This is very good. I am am looking forward to reading more this weekend!

[Gee]

Oh my that was a good read. My daughter had just turned sixteen, could do with her reading this. Loved it, a unique perspective, wording.