The Cork

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I’m here.
Where?

Here. Not there.
Stuck in this spot—
Not going anywhere.

“You don’t drink do you?”

Nope.
But I am here.
No place for me—
Evident and clear.

Yet, I am here,
Hands shaking—
Frozen fear…

“Hey, great to see you.”

Who, me?
Thank God—
Strangers
Passing by

Me—here—the fear,
I can’t even feel,
I am numb to tears.
Frigid, frozen,

Tapped out—
Pour me over—

I’m the cork
Popped for
Another’s pleasure.

What drastic,
Drawn out measure,
Must I do,

What course to steer,
For me to get
The hell out of

Here?

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.

Tittu