Ode to Onions

Back in the beginning of the hot dog days my services were required to help with the prep work for Willie's Alla Carte (didn't know our business name did ya?) The resulting Ode to Onions comes from finding humor in unpleasant circumstances: Every weekend I go on a date, but it's not with the man who is married to me. I have to work. The date's with my boss, who makes me chop onions-for free. Two hours this process will take. If I'm careful, don't make a mistake. I slice each onion three times. I peel them, bag them, and cry. I beg my boss to find someone new. But, he insists I'm the best and says, "It's all up to you." So I push my sleeves up. Set a song in my head and work clear through to the end. After I'm done I clean up and sigh. My boss gives me the wink of the eye. I reassure it wasn't so bad. I was tougher than I thought. However, next week I am going on strike. The onions will just have to Rot! If you're down town on weekends and stop by the cart-put a tip in the jar for me. Because the Onions don't cut themselves and the work isn't done Magical-ly!
(now Will buys pre chopped onions, so don't feel too sorry for me)