I am the Onion


I am a bowl of fruit: There are many flavours to discover,
But many are left for mould.
I am a tomato: A glazed skin and juicy taste; full of little seeds,
But I will pop and tear when in hot water.
I am a banana: tall, proud and ready to ripen,
But I peel away to reveal a soft interior.
I am the citrus: golden, earthly colours so tempting and sweet,
But so sour and bitter when peeled away.

Through the eyes of a string bag I can see,
Looking up at you from a paper bag in the corner.
From the masses of sweet and sour stalks of green and white I come.
I am the Onion.

I have many, many layers that slowly peel and flake.
Soothe me and I will flavour your mouth,
But cut me and I will whip your eye.