the ministers say it’s the other party that

ate all the onions away, and the State is

crafting plastic balls, “you can feel the

layers, almost, of onion skin, under the

tip of your scaly fingers, and the masses

then jerk off on how scaly it feels, how

different, from the slimy seedy tomato

roads, tomatoes, and nothing else, and

onions fall, off facebook posts, “the men

are taking the onions away,” “the onion

skins were not a mess,” fried onions, white,

black, or brown, Indian onions in shades of

red, Shallots, golden, not, golden things, that

did, do not, shine. The onions are missing, the

onions are gone, the tomatoes, bad, horrid,

the past, of tomatoes, it is a post-onion world,

Sisek says, all onions today, are fake, are false,

they were, one, four, five, twenty, hundred, the

true onions are gone, the onions are missing,

and in the post-onion cause and chaos,

the two of us, we sit in my room,

sheher dilli mein, and I cook for you,

the closest I can come to recreate

the rain, and the, once, onion pakoras.