life in the vegetable bin

I met an onion on the road today. It spoke of pointy things and horses (I remember the horses part as I looked out the window and floated in the trees and lost all interest.) It added prefixes where none belonged. When will my life be post-onion I asked? It gave me a sheet of pink on which was writ the worst quiz grade I have ever received. And then, what joy!, my life became post-onion (at least for today) and I settled comfortably into a chair designated happily for Intro to Short Poetry (honors) where we talk about things that don't make sense, but in a decidedly non-onion way, and where quizzes are not pink nor graded 5 out of 10.