Cork Bits Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Put the cork back,
there is a draft,
on its merry way
to dive, head over heels
into the bottle.
Pop. It goes down smoothly.

And finds you
there, and here
where I would wait
for centuries
and in dimensions
quite unknown
to God or man.

You say it was
the mellow breath
of God himself,
seduction pre-ordained.

But God would not,
not even as a gesture
to old Lucifer
concern himself
with little dregs
and bits of crumbly
cork.