I slam on the brakes
    commotion ahead

hooting, shouting and swearing
    is somebody dead?

 

a bicycle wobbles
    on the crown of the road

the onion-man bringing
    his brown-braided load

 

festooned round his handlebars
    trailing behind

draped in long necklaces
    round, brown, entwined

 

he takes off his beret
    he puts down his onions

comes in to drink coffee
    behind the lace curtains

 

he smells of stale Gauloise
    of garlic and wine

he wears one gold earring
    (which tangles with mine)

 

a string of his onions
    will spice up your life

a splash of French dressing
    for a home-alone wife