I don’t know how long I am going to be able to keep this up, but, inspired by my writing friend, Gaia Holmes, I have decided to attempt National Poem Writing Month. If I am keeping up with this, I need to post the next poem before the next prompt appears, tomorrow.
Chopping
I sharpen my Sheffield steel
regularly, and only
in a sedate frame of mind.
I cut each onion in half, put
the other half well out of the way, for now
and slice, for most dishes, as
thinly as possible, but not
all the way through.
I then turn it through ninety degrees
and bring the edge of the blade down
again, while holding what remains together
to prevent splaying.
I only chop as much as I can use at one time.
I live in harmony with onions, which
never make me cry.
Chopping onions is
one of the few things that
has not changed for the worse.
I wear second hand shirts,
and I don’t get holiday or sick pay,
but my onions are chopped
to same precision you would find
at The Savoy.