The shameful reek of radishes.
The nodding head of lettuce.
Somewhere a red onion weeps.
Black olives pitted against whom?
Someone must control the whole,
roam the outskirts of the bowl,
armed with pepper spray,
tongs at the ready.
A dressing down’s perhaps in order.
A shredding of the carrot crew.
Put the hardboiled egg in solitary.
Toss the rest about.
Threaten and serve.
Call in the choppers.