The Cork Poem by Else Cederborg

His gaze traced what was him
himself and his to hold and to offer
all of it called 'a frame'
something not his was clinging to his heart
'I'm here, ' it yelled, 'and I'm a woman'

he looked down his frame
stumbling on an unfamiliar bump on his chest
intrigued he pulled at it
'Help! ! ! ' it yelled. 'Help! ! ! . Don't kill me! '
Nauseated he pulled once more
out it popped like a cork
no more sounds were heard

© EC