"I sed I wunt dees onions kooked!"
said the man at the counter.
His voice was a regime
in the midst of a coup, his accent
from a part of Europe
where one must dig deep
to reach water.
The waitress's face
waved a flag of surrender.
"Fry the onions on this burger!"
she hollered at some unseen chef
as she walked the plate back
thru the swinging doors
to the kitchen.
When the burger returned,
the man glared at it in disgust.
"I wunt dese onions borned!" he said,
"BORN DEM!"
The next time the burger appeared
the onions were cinders,
the burger black
and still on fire.
The man looked down at it
and grinned
before saying grace.
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