If you love raw
onions I won’t judge,
but I despise them & while I
will savor tender stir-fried
onions if there’s an uncooked
Vidalia in my tossed
salad I will pluck them
out. If you are a superfan of Toby
Keith or Billy Joel you can
find good company but it won’t
be me. I savor Paul Simon, Norah
Jones, Aretha. More lover than
hater, but I have a list
& I’m proud. No convertibles,
or hazelnut coffee. Never liver,
brussel sprouts or a popsicle
on wooden stick. I am
reverent before a mouthful
of shrimp linguine with extra
garlic, when the crunch
of a red grape is tight
& flavorful. Many people adore
late sunset, but I’m nuts
about the first minutes
of sunrise. I abhor
endings so you can cross
off dressy funerals, but folding
warm towels is magnificent. When
I detect shreds of raw Spanish
onion on my muffuletta, or find
it minced & hiding like a stinging
bee in my egg salad, my darling
favorites return – if only to my
imagination – to sing the wild
bliss of choice & preference.